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'he Pinkerton Detective Series. Issued monfhly. By suhscription, ?3.00 per annum. No, 45. Nov., 1890 
Entered at Chicago Post Office as second-class matter. 


Caleb Clickett 


THE GREAT DETECTIVE 

BY 

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(OF THE SECRET SERVICE). 


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WITH A GASP AND A GROAN BRIAN HAWKES FELL HEAVILY 
TO THE GROUND. ^Caleb Clickett, p. 103. 




CALEB CLICKETT 

THE GREAT DETECTIVE 

% 

OR 

TRACKED BY A FINGER-NAIL 


BY 

iX 

ALLEN GRAVES 

u 

Chief of the Detective Bureau, Author of “B^irry Bayne,” 
“The Cavern of Death,” etc. 



Copyright 1890 by Laird & Lee 
(all RIGHTS RESERVED) 


i. 


The Pinkerton Detective Series.— Issued Monthly. By Subscription 
^3.00 per Annum. No. 45— November, 1890. [Entered at 
Chicago Post-office as second-class matter,] 


CHICAGO 

Laird & Lee Publishers 
1890 


o 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER I 

Detective Hackett— A Consummate “Penman”— The Arrest 7 

CHAPTER II 

An Audacious Escape— A Prophecy x6 

CHAPTER III 

A Finger-Nail— The Mysterious Tramp— A Ridiculous Object sx 

CHAPTER IV 

Ecck Lawless in Serious Trouble— Ella Scofield 30 

CHAPTER V 

The Mystery Solved— Buck Lawless Retires for Six Months’ Medita- 
tion 39 

CHAPTER VI 

At the Gateway of the Quinnipiac Engine and Boiler Works— Hawkes 

and Embler in the River 47 

CHAPTER VII 

The “Quiet Home” — Mrs. Crandall Disgusted — Eugene’s Agony 56 

CHAPTER VIII 

Eugene Embler's Terrible Secret t 65 

CHAPTER IX 

The Letter Bordered with Black— “I am Free!” 74 

CHAPTER X 

Mrs. Crandall and Brian Hawkes — The Superintendent’s Model 81 

CHAPTER XI 

The Hawk Swoops gi 

CHAPTER XII 

The Hawk Comes to Grief— A Threat 100 

CHAPTER XIII 

Buck Lawless Reappears— Mildred says “Yes” — The Malignant Face 107 

CHAPTER XIV 

The Shadow on the Lover's Path— One of Detective Clickett’s Black 

Sheep 116 

CHAPTER XV 

At the Store-room Window— Notice to Quit 124 

CHAPTER XVI 

Lawless and Hawkes Retire from the Field — The Widow Sorely Per- 
plexed 133 

CHAPTER XVII 

Eugene and Mildred— Marshall Manning’s Return 143 

CHAPTER XVIII 

The Inventor Bewildered — A Moment’s Rejoicing— The Shadow of 
Night and Dark Despair 152 

CHAPTER XIX 

The Dead Alive— Detective Clickett Listens 161 

CHAPTER XX 

The Detective is Deeply Interested in what he Overhears 170 

CHAPTER XXI 

Jake’s Lodging-House— Clickett Gathers Further Information 181 

CHAPTER XXII 

The Detective Hears Enough — Eugene Awakes to Despair 190 

CHAPTER XXIII 

Mrs. Crandall’s Warning — The Good Lady Surprised igg 

CHAPTER XXIV 

A Ray of Hope — A Murderous Blow — The Tables Turned 208 

CHAPTER XXV 

The Climax. Si8 


CALEB CLICKETT 

THE GREAT DETECTIVE 

CHAPTER I 

DETECTIVE HACKETT A CONSUMMATE “pENMAM"— 

THE ARREST 

The superintendent of the Chicago police was 
seated at his desk in his private office, hastily 
running over a file of papers in his hands. A 
well-dressed, prosperous-looking gentleman had 
just left him, and he was quite alone in the 
room. 

Presently, with an impatient movement, he 
threw down the file, and, after sweeping a num- 
ber of other papers into a drawer, touched a call- 
bell. 

The door opened, an attendant entered, and 
waited deferentially to be addressed. 

“Ah! Gourley,has Hackett come in yet?” asked 
the superintendent. 

“I don^t think he has, sir,” was the answer. 

“What can be keeping him?” muttered the 
7 


8 


CALEB CLICKETT 

official; "I sent for him more than half an hour 
ago. ’* 

“I haven’t seen him much about headquarters 
lately, sir, ” the attendant ventured to remark; “I 
think he must be working up some important 
case. " 

“Of course he’s working up an important 
case,” returned the head of the department. “I 
know all about that, and it’s the important case I 
want to see him about. He ought to report to 
his superior once in twenty-four hours, at least.” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

This reply seemed to irritate the superintend- 
ent somewhat, as though it reminded him that 
he had lowered his dignity, in a measure, by say- 
ing even as little as he had to a mere doorkeeper 
and attendant. 

“You may go,” he said, “and when Hackett 
shows himself, send him in to me immediately.” 

“Yes, sir;" and Gourley discreetly and noise- 
lessly retired. 

Less than ten minutes later, there was a knock 
at the door, and in answer to his short, sharp 
“Come!” a tall, spare-built, clean-shaven man, 
dressed in a modest suit of gray, presented him- 
self. 

“Ah! Hackett,” exclaimed the superintendent, 
in a tone of relief, “you are here at last, then?” 

“Yes, sir. You sent for me?" 


DETECTIl^E HACKETT 


9 


“Yes; it’s about that forgery case — the Penny 
affair. You have made no report, and the North- 
western Lumber Company is getting impatient. 
Indeed, the president, Mr. Jerome, has but just 
left me.” 

“It’s the own criminal carelessness that’s 
caused all the delay,” replied Detective Hackett, 
emphatically, “if you remember, sir, when Mr. 
Jerome first reported the case here, and you sent 
for me, the first question I asked him was where 
his bookkeeper, the alleged forger,- lived. To 
your astonishment, as well as mine, he did not 
know. ” 

The superintendent nodded acquiescence. 

“I remember,” he said. 

“Well, sir,” the detective went on, warmly, 
'T very soon learned that there wasn’t an officer 
nor a man connected with the Northwestern 
Lumber Company who knew anything about the 
residence of the suspected party. There was a 
serious hitch, to begin with.” 

“I should say so! But the man — a clergyman, 
I think he was — who recommended Penny to the 
lumber company, did you see him? He ought 
to know where the fellow lived.” 

“You refer to the Rev. Samuel Pyetie, the 
zealous head of the Hallelujah Mission. Yes, I 
saw him, and that, too, without unnecessary loss 
of time, you may be sure. He knew no more 


10 


CALEB CLICKETT 


about where Penny could be found than the oth- 
ers; and so I had to go to work and ferret the 
fellow out for myself.” 

“Ah! you have found out his hiding-place, 
then?” 

“Certainly,” was the matter-of-fact reply. 

“Well, tell me all about it;” and pointing to 
a chair, the superintendent intimated that Hack- 
ett should be seated. 

The detective drew the chair a little nearer the 
desk, and, when he had fixed himself comforta- 
bly, began; 

“In the first place, I learned from the credu- 
lous Mr. Pyetie that Penny had dropped into 
his mission one cold night in December last, 
looking seedy and considerably broken up from 
the effects of dissipation. He seemed deeply in- 
terested, manifested the greatest penitence for 
his sins, and appeared so much in earnest that 
Mr. Pyetie was quickly drawn toward him.” 

The superintendent nodded, as much as to 
say, “I understand.” 

“He said,” the detective went on, “that he was 
from the East; that, some three or four months 
before, he had come into possession of a large 
sum of money — quite a fortune, in fact — and think- 
ing that he could do better by investing it in the 
West, he had come to Chicago. But, he said, 
he was a little unsophisticated, and easily in- 


DETECriVE HACKETT 


11 


fluenced; that, unfortunately, he had fallen in 
with bad men and women, who had led him into 
all sorts of reckless dissipation. This he had 
kept up for more than three months, until, in 
fact, all his money was gone, when his fair- 
weather friends had promptly deserted him, and 
left him to starve, for anything they cared. 
The good but simple-hearted clergyman at once 
set himself to work to do something for the 
penitent spendthrift; and the fellow played 
his cards with the most consummate skill, for he 
not only obtained a good situation through the 
efforts of the missionary, but also persuaded Mrs. 
Rachel Rockwell, a good-looking, buxom widow, 
and a great friend of the mission, to marry 
him. ” 

“Ah! ha!” exclaimed the superintendent, quick- 
ly; “that last is worth making a note of, Hack- 
ett. ” 

‘I have made a very careful note of it, sir," 
was the quiet reply, “and I am already satisfied 
that it will amount to something.” 

“Good ! go on. ” 

“In January, Penny entered the employ of the 
Northwestern Lumber Company, at their office 
in this city, and soon proved himself to be a 
most excellent accountant. For several months 
he gave great satisfaction, but little by little 
he renewed his dissipated habits, until he fre- 


12 


CALEB CLICKETT 


quently appeared at his desk in a state of intox- 
ication. This led to his discharge. And let 
me say right here, sir, that the fellow was such 
a consummate scoundrel, such a finished vil- 
lain, and such a perfect penman, that if it 
hadn’t been for this one weakness — this over- 
mastering love for strong drink — he might have 
gone on for months, and even years, without 
ever being found out, and the lumber company 
might, and probably would, have been ruined. 
Why, sir, his skill with the pen is marvelous — 
simply marvelous; his imitations of his employ- 
er’s signature were so absolutely perfect, that, 
as you know, the latter believed them to be gen- 
uine; he couldn’t doubt them.’ 

"Yes,” assented the superintendent; "I am 
fully satisfied that the fellow must be considered 
^an expert in his line.” 

"He’s all of that, and more too,” said the de- 
tective, warmly. "And it’s mighty fortunate that 
his career as a forger has been cut short by what 
we may, after all, venture to call a timely discov- 
ery. ” 

"I agree with you, Hackett. You have been 
to the banks, I suppose?” 

"Yes; but in order that you may understand 
the whole business, let me go back a little. You 
will remember that Penny was discharged on the 
13th. Well, on the 25th, the Third National 


DETECTIVE HACKETT 


13 


Bank returned the lumber company’s bank-book, 
which had been balanced, and also their can- 
celed checks. On looking over the latter, Mr. 
Charles B. Jerome, the president of the com- 
pany, as you are aware, discovered one dated on"* 
the 2d instant, drawn in favor of Penny for fifty- 
five dollars, as ‘petty cash.’ Though the pres- 
ident had no recollection of giving his account- 
ant such a check, the signature was so -like his 
own — in short, the imitation was so perfect — that 
he believed his memory must have failed him. 
The check was numbered 923, and the same num- 
ber appeared on another check of the same date. 

“Then it was,” continued the detective, after a 
momentary pause, "that Mr. Jerome came and 
consulted with you, and you sent for me, know- 
ing that I had had a good deal of experience in 
this sort of thing. 

"Well, I soon discovered five other checks, all 
drawn in favor of Penny. One was dated on the 
3d, No. 962, for $JS) another bore date of the 
nth. No. 974, for a similar amount; the third 
was dated the 17th, No. 982, for $165; and 
there were two others for $125 each. As the 
numbers were duplicated, it was then evident 
that Mr. Jerome’s signature had been forged. 

"The next thing I did was to go to the Com- 
mercial National Bank, where the company also 
deposited, and there I discovered, among the ac- 


14 


CALEB CLICKETT 


cepted checks, one drawn in favor of Penny on 
the 17th for $65, and another two days later, for 
$80. The paying teller then remembered that 
when Penny presented the last check he noticed 
that it was not numbered, and declined to cash it 
unless Mr. Jerome indorsed Penny’s signature. 
The forger went away, and after waiting a suffi- 
, cient time for his supposed visit to the company’s 
office, returned to the bank with the check bearing 
the indorsement K— C. B. J.’ This was so 

cleverly done that the check was promptly 
cashed. 

“I now took one of the best men on the force 
to assist me, being determined to find out with 
the least possible delay where the nervy villain 
was quartered. 

“If, as I have already sai*d, Mr. Jerome had 
used ordinary precaution in the first place, and 
informed himself as to his bookkeeper’s resi- 
dence, much valuable time might have been saved. 
As it was, we at length ascertained that Penny 
had resided in a comfortable house on Harrison 
street for several weeks after marrying Mrs. 
Rockwell, but that he afterward went out • to 
Lyonsvil le. 

“Obtaining an accurate description of Penny 
as a man of about five feet eight and a half 
inches in height, well-proportioned, good-looking, 
and neatly dressed, and that his wife was a large, 


DETECTIVE HACKETT 


15 


we 11- formed woman, we made a thorough search in 
Lyonsville and the vicinity, and began watching 
all the incoming trains from the suburbs. Of 
course, we understood that the forger would avoid 
the direct route from Lyonsville if it so hap- 
pened that he was still living anywhere in that 
neighborhood. 

“Last evening, while out Hawthorne way with 
my assistant, we saw a man and woman, answer- 
ing the descriptions we had received, leaving a 
very pretty cottage, and, after a moment’s delay 
at the gate, start down the street. The couple 
walked leisurely to the next corner, and turned 
south. 

“Now, I knew a peculiarity of my man. I knew 
that when suddenly spoken to he would be sure 
to say ‘Eh?’ and of this fact I determined to 
take advantage. On reaching the next corner 
they were about entering a store, when, coming up 
behind them, I exclaimed: 

“ ‘Hallo, Penny !’ 

“ ‘Eh?’ said he, as promptly as I could possibly 
wish; and the next moment he was a prisoner." 


CHAPTER II 


AN AUDACIOUS ESCAPE A PROPHECY 

“Go on, Hackett, ” exclaimed the superintend- 
ent eagerly, as the detective paused as if his 
story w^s completed. 

“There is little more to tell,” w^s the re- 
sponse. 

“How did he take the arrest?” 

“Coolly enough. ‘What is this for?’ he asked, 
with all the assurance in the world. 

“‘Forgery,’ I dryly replied. 

“‘What! is that a crime in this free, enlight- 
ened, and progressive West?’ he asked. 

“ ‘Felon}^, that’s all,’ I responded. 

“The woman had by this time realized that her 
companion was a prisoner, accused of a dreadful 
crime. She uttered a moan, and fainted. I or- 
dered my companion to summon assistance, and 
she was properly cared for. 

“At the station-house Penny at first refused to 
give his name, nor would he make ""any answer 
to the charge. He acted as though being under 
arrest was not a new experience with him. His 
wife seemed utterly overwhelmed by the discov- 
IG 


AN AUDACIOUS ESCAPE 


17 


ery she had made, for she fainted a second time 
when the prisoner was marched to his cell. 

“On being searched, a savings-bank book bear- 
ing his wife’s former name was found on the 
prisoner’s person. A check on the Commercial 
National Bank, made out to his order, for $75, 
and dated July 25, was found in his vest-pocket. 
Like the others, it was an excellent forgery. 

“It was so late when I had him fairly locked up 
last night, that I didn’t venture to disturb you 
about the matter. And this morning, just as I 
was starting for the office to report to you, I 
stumbled upon a piece of evidence which detained 
me for some little time, and which, if I am not 
greatly mistaken, will result in convicting him 
of bigamy.” 

“Ah! ha! I thought there would be something 
like that before we were through with the busi- 
ness. What is the evidence, Hackett?” 

“I have found that he was in the habit of send- 
ing remittances to another woman — another wife, 
I may safely say — in New York." 

“You have done well, Hackett — remarkably 
well; but I am very sorry for the poor woman 
here, who thinks she is his wife." 

“Ah, yes; and so am I." 

"Where is she now?" 

“Just gone to the office of the Northwestern 

Ca/i’l) Clicketl 3 


18 


CALEB CLICKETT 


Lumber Company, to beg Mr. Jerome to show 
mercy to her husband." 

"No use; he’ll never do it in the world." 

"No; I am satisfied on that head." 

"Well, as he is anxious to see you, and will be 
glad to hear your report from your own lips, 
perhaps you had better go round to his office and 
have an interview with him. Of course, by this 
time he has heard the main facts of the arrest 
from the prisoner’s wife." 

"Yes; if she found him at his office, he knows 
all about it by this time. However, I’ll go round 
at once; " and the detective turned to leave the 
room.” 

At that instant there was a hurried knock at 
the door, and before the superintendent could 
call out "Come in," the door opened, and Gour- 
ley, sticking in his head, said: 

"Gamsby’s here, and in a tearing hurry to see 
3^ou both — more, particularly Mr. Hackett." 

"What in the world can he want?" muttered 
the detective, with a slight tinge of apprehen- 
sion in his tone. 

"We’ll very soon know," said the superintend- 
ent. "Gourley, tell him to come in: " and a 
moment later. Detective Gamsby entered, looking 
very much excited and confused. 

"What in the world is the matter, man? Come, 
out with it !" cried the superintendent, impatiently. 


AN AUDACIOUS ESCAPE 


19 


“Have the heavens fallen? or have the socialists 
broken out in a new spot?” 

“Broken out! ” repeated Gamsby, eagerly; “that’s 
it, sir! The prisoner — Penny the Penman, the 
fellow we took last night — has broken out of the 
lock-up — clean gone; and the keeper’s been found, 
bound and gagged, in his place.” 

“Ten thousand devils! ” roared Hackett. “Can 
this be true? I — ” 

“Wait a moment,” interrupted the superin- 
tendent; “let me understand. Is Gamsby here 
the man you’ve had with you working up this 
case? ” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Then, turning to Gamsby, the superintendent 
said: 

“And you’ve just come from the precinct sta- 
tion? ” 

“Yes, sir." 

“And the scoundrel, by some cunning trick, has 
really gained his liberty, and left the keeper 
locked up in his cell in his stead?” 

“That’s it exactly, sir.” 

“By Jove !" cried Hackett, excitedly, “I wouldn’ t 
have had this happen for a thousand dollars ; 
no, nor for five thousand. I must know more 
about the matter; ” and forgetting his hat in his 
hurry and disappointment, he rushed from the 


room. 


20 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"After him!” exclaimed the superintendent, 
pointing to the hat; "and see to it that you two 
leave no stone unturned to retake the criminal.” 

Gamsby nodded, and seizing his associate’s 
head-piece, hurried from the room. 

"This is a strange turn in the affair," mused 
the great head of the police department, when 
he had been left alone, "I wonder what the out- 
come will be? If the fellow makes good his es- 
cape now, T prophesy a startling career for Penny 
the Penman." 


CHAPTER III 


A FINGER-NAIL — THE MYSTERIOUS TRAMP — A RIDICU- 
LOUS OBJECT 

While the little drama just recorded was "on 
the boards," so to speak, in the private office of 
the superintendent of police of Chicago, an event 
of hardly less interest was taking place in the 
office of the head of the police department in 
New Haven, Connecticut. 

The superintendent had just sent for the fa- 
mous detective, Caleb Cl ickett, and was impa- 
tiently awaiting his arrival. 

He had not long to wait. Clickett, with his 
long, thin, smoothly shaven face, keen^ deep-set, 
piercing gray eyes, and somber black clothes, 
soon made his appearance. 

"Ah! Caleb, I am glad you have come," said 
his superior; "they tell me you have been looking 
into this silk works affair — was the job done by a 
professional?" 

"I think it was, sir." 

"Everything cleaned out as slick as a whistle?" 

"Everything, sir." 

"Nothing worth carrying away left in the 
safe? " 


21 


32 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"Nothing, sir." 

"And they got off, leaving no trace behind?" 

"'He got off; but, fortunately, he did leave a 
single trace behind him." 

"There was but one, then ! What was the 
trace he left?" 

Clickett took something from his upper right- 
hand vest-pocket, wrapped in tissue-paper, and 
unfolding it, placed it on the desk in front of 
the superintendent. 

"Why, thunder! What’s this?" exclaimed the 
great official, in astonishment — "a finger-nail?" 

"Exactly," said the detective, quietly; "and I 
found that finger-nail on the sill of the window 
where the burglar made his entrance into the 
office of the silk works." 

"You don’t say so! " and the superintendent 
examined the object with considerable interest. 

"Yes," said Clickett; "and evidently it had 
been torn from the robber’s finger while he was 
scrambling in." 

"It looks like it." 

"There’s no doubt about it, sir. And now, you 
see, if he’s in the city. I’ve got him sure; he 
can’t get away." 

"But if he’s left the city?" 

"In that case, if he’s one there’s the shadow 
of a reason to suspect, I shall soon know the 
truth. I am using the telegraph and telephone 


A FINGER-NAIL 


23 


wires for all they’re worth, at this very mo- 
ment.” 

"Good! ” exclaimed the superintendent in a 
tone of satisfaction; "you’ll succeed, Clickett — 
Pm sure of it.” 

"And so am I,” smiled the old detective grim- 
ly, while at the same time he picked up the fin- 
ger-nail, and carefully, almost tenderly, wrapped 
it in the tissue-paper, and replaced it in his vest- 
pocket. 

He was about to speak again, when he was in- 
terrupted by a knock at the door. 

"Come!” called the superintendent, and the 
doorman ushered a rather shrewd-looking farmer 
into their presence. 

"Well,” said the head of the department, some- 
what briskly, for he didn’t fancy the interrup- 
tion; "what can we do for you, sir?” 

"My name’s Holton — John Holton” — responded 
the countryman, "an’ I live over in East Haven; 
work a farm there; raise stuff for market, mostly. ” 

"That’s a very interesting fact to know, Mr. 
Holton. ” 

"Wait a minute, an’ you’ll hear something 
more interestin,’ I reckon. I was a cornin’ into 
th’ city early this mornin’ with a load o’ garden- 
truck for market, an’ had got near th’ p’int 
where Townsend avenue, Forbes avenue, an’ 
Main street come together — that’s in th’ city 


24 


CALEB CLICKETT 


limits now, I reckon, since you’ve taken mor’n 
half our town from us?" 

"No, it’s only in the limits of the town of 
New Haven; but go on." 

"Waal, as I was a sayin’. I’d got to that ’ere 
p’int, an’ right thar what should I stumble upon 
but a queer-lookin’ tramp, all sprawled out in 
the road." 

"A drunken tramp lying in the road, eh? 
Well?" 

"Waal, I’ve seen drunken tramps mor’n once 
before, an’ I reckon I should have passed right 
on, ’cause !tain’t a good plan t’ lose much time 
when you’re takin’ garden-truck t’ market in th’ 
mornin’; but all ’t onct I seed blood on th’ fel- 
low’s face, an’ then I stopped dead short, an’ 
looked at him." 

"Ah! " said the superintendent, with growing 
interest, and Detective Clickett drew a little 
nearer and listened attentively. 

"Tramps, yer know," Farmer Holton went on, 
"may sleep outside at this season o’ th’ year, 
an’ ginerally do; but they don’t usually choose a 
hard, macadamized road fur their bed, or lay face 
down in th’ mud, an’ that odd position orter ha’ 
been enough to attract my attention, I suppose, but 
really it was th’ blood that made me stop plum’ 
short an’ whoa up my horses an’ peer down 
curious-like at that thar still figure." 


A FINGER-NAIL 


“Well, come to the point, Mr. Holton, if yon 
please,” said the superintendent impatiently. 

“No, no,” interposed Clickett hastily; “let 
him tell his story in his own way.” 

“Well, go bn then,” said the chief. 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” and the farmer con- 
tinued: “Waal, when I seed him a lyin’ there, 
my first thought was that he’d been drinkin’ an’ 
had had a fit; but then the uncommon stillness 
o’ th’ figure made me start an’ look closer. 
Th’ chest was still, an’ th’ face where ’twa’n’t 
bloody was blanched an’ waxy. I bent lower, 
an’ listened with all my ears. There was no 
breath in that body — th’ tramp was dead.” 

.“Dead!” echoed the detective, with some ex- 
citement. “What did you do when you made 
that discovery?” 

“Waal,” answered the farmer slowly, “if th’ 
dead body had a been that of a rich man, or of 
one that looked as though he could have paid for 
it, I might have rushed round an’ got help, an’ 
sent for th’ coroner an’ all that. As ’twas, I 
told th’ folks in th’ nearest house, an’ then 
came on to th’ city to tell you.” 

“But before telling us you stopped long enough 
to dispose of your garden-truck, didn’t you?” 
asked Clickett dryly. 

“Waal, it so happened that I was fortunate. I 
disposed of all I had at one or two stalls in th’ 


26 


CALEB CLICKETT 


city market. Wa’n’t hindered long, yer see." 

"I see." 

"What is your opinion, Mr. Holton?" asked 
the superintendent. "Was the man murdered?" 

"Looks more to me as if he’d been killed in a 
drunken fight," was the reply. "But, then, I 
don’t know much about such matters." 

The superintendent turned to Clickett. 

"Who had I better send out there?" he asked. 
"If you hadn’t got the silk-works case on your 
hands, I should want you to go." 

"That’s in such shape that I can leave it for 
awhile," said the detective; "and, on the whole. 
I’d rather like to look into this affair." 

"Very good; take hold of it, then, and I’ll 
send out the coroner and medical examiner." 

"I wish you would;" and Detective Clickett 
hurried away, closely followed by the farmer. 

Less than half an hour later he was at the 
junction of Townsend and Forbes avenues and 
Main street, where he found the body by the side 
of the road, covered with a horse-blanket. A few 
minutes later the medical examiner arrived, and 
after him the coroner and grand juror. 

The doctor made a careful examination and 
decided that the injuries to the head had proba- 
bly been done by the wheel of some passing ve- 
hicle, and his theory was that the tramp had 
been so sleepy or so drunk that he had lain down 


A FINGER-NAIL 


in the road instead of upon the grassy bank close 
by, and so met his death. 

There were no traces of a struggle on the road 
or the bank, and no other mark? of violence 
about the body; so it was removed and got 
into a cheap coffin as quickly as possible. 

Through all these decisions and arrangements 
Clickett was puzzled. The body was that of a 
man between thirty-three and thirty-four years 
of age, not particularly fine-featured, but, for a 
tramp, remarkably clean. The face was shaven, 
all but the upper lip, but it did not, like most 
tramp faces, show a stubby growth filled with 
dirt. 

The detective swiftly decided that the tramp 
was no ordinary one, and then turned to inspect 
his hands. They were not brown and dirty, like 
those of the real tramp, but white and soft as 
those of a lady; the nails delicate, and neatly 
trimmed. 

The hands, indeed, did not seem to accord 
with the ragged sleeves at all; neither did the 
clothes fit the body; but that is not so uncom- 
mon, for the real tramp is not particular about an 
inch or two, so long as he gets the clothes for 
nothing. 

Clickett’s conclusions were that the man had 
not been a tramp long, and that he had be- 
longed to a good class in society. There was 


28 


C/tLEB CLICKETT 


not a marker a paper left by which the identity 
could be traced, and not so much as a tobacco 
pipe in the pockets; so, at last, the nameless 
tramp was duly buried, and the detective re- 
turned to his hunt for the owner of the finger- 
nail. 

Soon he had the fellow cornered where he be- 
lieved it was impossible for him to give him the 
slip; and, willing to play with him as a cat 
plays with a mouse, he left others to watch him 
for a while, and began to make further inquiries 
about the mysterious and now buried tramp. 

He found that a man answering to his descrip- 
tion had begged at a good many places between 
the spot where the body had been discovered and 
Morris Cove, and that he had been alone; so the 
idea of a quarrel and foul play was abandoned. 

In writing out a description of the body, how- 
ever, Clickett was careful to give prominence to 
the delicate white hands, the cleanliness of the 
skin, and the inferences he had drawn from these 
facts, and thus the account appeared in the news- 
papers. 

But no one claimed the body, or seemed par- 
ticularly interested in the fate of the unknown, 
and so the case had every chance of being forgot- 
ten, and would have been but for a stupid boy in 
the vicinity of the city market who happened to 
run against the detective with a slimy string of fish. 


A FINGER-NAIL 


29 


and caused him to pause for a minute to scrape 
the mark from his clothes, instead of striding on 
down the street. 

When he had cleaned the spot to the best of 
his ability, and was about to move on again, his 
eyes caught a strange and ridiculous object which 
made him pause and stand staring in wonder. 

The object was a miserable tramp, a low-lived 
villain and general loafer, named Buck Lawless, 
dressed up in a fine suit of gentlemen’s clothes, 
with hat, silk necktie, socks, and button-shoes 
complete. 


CHAPTER IV 


BUCK LAWLESS IN SERIOUS TROUBLE — ELLA SCOFIELD 

Detective Clickett had never before seen Buck 
Lawless in anything but the sorriest of rags, and 
the spectacle to him was cruelly laughable. 

While he stood storing, Buck chanced to look 
up, and caught his eye. 

Then a surprising change came over him. His 
face paled swiftly; his eyes started forth, and he 
gaped at the detective, unable to advance or re- 
tire. 

Clickett moved a step forward, still smiling a 
little at the odd figure Lawless cut, when the fel- 
low suddenly backed round and took to his 
heels. 

The detective followed briskly, shouting to him 
to stop; but although he had frequently come in 
contact with the authorities, he hadn’t learned 
sense, so he ran on to the foot of Union street, 
where a policeman pulled him up, and throttled 
him nearly black in the face before he would 
cease struggling to get away and resume his flight. 
When Clickett came up, however, he suddenly 
changed his tactics, and became quiet and peace- 
ful. The detective expected him to ask why he had 
30 


BUCK L/ilVLESS IN SERIOUS TROUBLE 


31 


chased him — a question, by the way, he would have 
found it difficult to answer — but Lawless uttered 
not a sound; he simply stood there, quaking like 
a man in terror of his life. 

Clickett was a little blown with the race, for, 
being nearly fifty years of age, a hard run told 
on him more than formerly; but he was still smil- 
ing as he said: 

“Where did you get your new clothes, Lawless?” 

He expected Buck to feebly respond to his 
smile, but, instead, he nearly dropped to the 
ground, and it was clear to the detective that 
his chance race had something in it. The crook 
was too lazy to run for nothing, and Clickett’s 
only difficulty was how to hit upon the secret 
of his terror. 

He was not an ordinary thief, nor a tramp 
proper, but something more than these. He 
was always ready for any low deviltry or for the 
most outrageous crime, and he was not always 
over-cautious in his proceedings. Still, the 
detective was utterly at sea in trying to guess 
what he could have done to make him fear his 
presence. His breath smelled of whisky, too, but 
he was quite sober — fear and the race had evi- 
dently done that. He made no answer, and 
seemed to regard Clickett’s question in the 
light of a cruel joke, and to believe that, in 
point of fact, he knew all about it. 


33 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"You want to reserve your defense?" remarked 
the detective, as he handcuffed his prisoner. 

Buck cast a rapid glance at his face, and ut- 
tered a sound very like a groan. 

It is quite convenient at times to be a dreaded 
ma|i. The prisoner, after studying his captor’s 
features, seemed to give himself up for lost, and 
after that groan he gave forth no other sound; 
neither did he utter a syllable in reply to the 
detective’s chaffing. 

When they had got about half-way to the office, 
however, he dropped a small square of paste- 
board, which Clickett eagerly pounced upon, and 
found to be a pawn-ticket for a watch, upon 
which forty dollars had been advanced. 

"Oh! so you’ve been pawning your watch?" 
the detective gleefully remarked. "It must have 
been an uncommonly good one, or they wouldn’t 
have lent so much on it." 

He still stared at his captor in terror, and 
evidently looked upon him as Satan personi- 
fied. Clickett could have e'njoyed his devout 
admiration better if he had known what it was 
about. 

The prisoner had no chance to throw away 
anything else, as Clickett ordered the policeman 
to handcuff his free hand to his own; and in this 
order they reached headquarters, where, on search- 
ing him, they found in one pocket a magnificent 


BUCK LAiVLESS IN SERIOUS TROUBLE 


33 


seal ring, too tight for his finger, and a valuable 
gold locket, containing a quantity of fair hair. 

“Have you anything to say about these things?” 
asked the detective, when they had turned out his 
other possessions, and found him much wealthier 
than usual. 

“I got them from my lady-love," he boldly vent- 
ured. 

“Oh, indeed! And she did not take the size 
of your finger correctly! ” Clickett cheerfully 
added. 

“That’s it exactly,” he answered, looking as if 
he could have stabbed the officer. 

“What’s her name and address?” pursued his 
tormentor, promptly. 

“I couldn’t think of- tellin’ that,” he modestly 
answered; “she might not quite like it, and I 
don’t want her to know I’m in trouble.” 

“Did she give you this money, too?” asked 
Clickett, pointing to something more than ^150, 
which they had taken from his pockets. 

He hesitated for a moment, and then said : 

“Well, no; the fact is, I raised some of that 
on my watch.” 

“Oh! and did she give you the watch?” 

“Yes.” 

“And these fine clothes?” 

“Oh, no! I got them to court her in,” he an- 
swered, after a moment’s reflection. “She’s one 
Caleb Clickett j 


34 


CALEB CLICKETT 


of th’ four hundred, yer see, so I couldn’t go 
shabby. " 

The point of this joke can only be seen when 
we state that Lawless was one of the ugliest men 
in creation, and forty years old, if. he was a 
day. 

"She must be very fond of you," remarked 
Clickett. 

Buck earnestly assured him that she just doted 
on him. 

"Perhaps she would break her heart if she 
didn’t see you to-night?" sympathetically pur- 
sued the detective. 

The prisoner eagerly declared that she would 
certainly be dead before morning. 

"Then she may begin breaking as soon as she 
pleases, for you must stay here," said the other, 
calmly. 

He looked a world of eloquence, but allowed 
none of it to escape his lips, and presently was 
locked up charged with being in possession of 
articles believed to have been stolen. 

Clickett then went to the pawn-broker who 
had issued the ticket, and was not surprised to 
find that the watch so disposed of was a fine 
gold one, worth at least $125. It bore no name 
or initials, and had been pawned by a 3'oung, 
respectably dressed woman, who said that it 
belonged to her husband. The detective had no 


BUCK LAIVLESS IN SERIOUS TROUBLE 


35 


doubt but the woman had been engaged by Law- 
less to do the work, but so far he was safe. 

What astonished Clickett now was that no one 
reported the loss of such articles as those found 
in Buck’s possession. No gentleman complained 
of having been robbed, or even, as it is some- 
times politely put, of having “lost,” the articles. 

It thus ^became evident that the authorities 
had a great deal more on their hands than they 
could make use of; and the detective was really 
as much puzzled about Buck’s clothes as about 
the jewelry, for the idea of a miserable old rascal 
like him wearing a fine, fashionable suit from 
choice was too ridiculous to be for a moment 
entertained. 

A man who was put into the cell with Lawless 
learned nothing, though once he heard Buck 
mutter in his sleep: “You can^t hang me! you 
can’t hang me!” clearly showing that his mind 
was on other subjects than sweethearts. 

While Clickett’s time was thus taken up, a 
young lady had called twice at police headquar- 
ters and asked to see him, but only to find 
that he was absent, and on both occasions had 
firmly refused to state her business to anyone else. 

She was quietly and richly dressed, and what 
startled and roused the detective was the infor- 
mation that she had fair hair. 

A queer thought flashed across him: the hair in 


CALEB CLICKETT 


m 

the. locket found in Buck’ s pocket was fair; could 
it be possible that the rogue had really told the 
truth, and that some infatuated girl had lost her 
heart to him? 

The thought made the detective uneasy, and he 
staid at headquarters a whole forenoon in the 
hope of seeing the young lady, and about two 
o’clock was rewarded for his patience. 

She was a slight little creature, but very pretty, 
and possessed of a singularly sweet and engaging 
manner; and the moment Clickett saw her he 
decided that it was impossible that such a low 
wretch as Lawless could ever have enslaved such 
a being. 

After giving him her name as Ella Scofield, 
and her place of residence as near the Cove, on 
Townsend avenue, she stopped short in a flutter 
of excitement. 

“It is because I have done wrong and feel that 
I should make atonement that I have come here, “ 
she at last breathed out, in a tearful whisper. 
“It will be a great sacrifice for me, but it is the 
only thing that will give me peace, and I don’t 
care for myself if I only make him happy." 

“It’s about a lover that you’ve come here, then! " 
said the detective, with his head in a whirl. 

“Yes, but I only thought I loved him, and said 
it because it pleased him; and then I met — met 
— a — ’’ and she stopped, blushing deeply. 


BUCK LAIVLESS IN SERIOUS TROUBLE 


.‘{7 


“You met somebody else whom you liked bet- 
ter?’’ said Clickett, to help her out of her flutter. 
“Well, that^s common enough, and it^s no sin; 
though it’s hard on the poor fellow thrown over.” 

“No sin? Oh, I wish I could only think so, for 
I fear I have driven him mad by what I’ve done, 
and he may have committed suicide. When I told 
him all he seemed distracted, and said he would 
never look on me again. He told his friends 
that he was going to walk to Wallingford, but he’s 
never been heard of since, and I’ve come here to 
see if you could not trace him out and — and give 
him a message;’’ and instead of blushing, she now 
paled, and the officer could see the perspiration 
come out slowly on her temples. 

“A message? What message?’’ 

“Just this: that I will be his wife, and give up 
all my own feelings and wishes to make atonernent 
for having said I loved him when I didn’t 
know any better. I deserve the punishment, and 
if that will save his life and make him happy, 
what need I care. A woman’s happiness does not 
count for much with men, and whatever he thinks 
is right will be good enough for me.’’ 

Clickett looked at her as he quietly wiped away 
the crowding tears, and wondered where on earth 
a man could be found willing to make such a tre- 
mendous sacrifice. 

He asked for her missing lover’s name. She 


38 


CALEB CLICKETT 


gave it as Herbert Norton, and then he felt 
more satisfied than ever that she at least was 
not in love with the old soaker locked up in one 
of the cells of the station-house. 


CHAPTER V 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED — BUCK LAWLESS RETIRES FOR 
SIX MONTHS’ MEDITATION 

Herbert Norton was the son of a celebrated 
physician residing on Whitney avenue, and had 
started off, almost immediately after his rupture 
with Miss Scofield, to walk to a friend’s in Wal- 
lingford; but he had never reached his friend’s 
house in that town, or been heard of since he set 
out, and the young lady’s fear was that he had 
simply gone down to South End or Morris Cove, 
and ended his troubles beneath the water. 

She thought, that if the cove and the little 
gulf just within the breakwater were dragged 
and thoroughly searched, she would feel easier; 
or if the detectives could trace Norton in the or- 
dinary way, through the country. 

Give him her message! that was all that was 
needed to recall him to life and joy; all that 
she prayed them to do; and if they accomplished 
that, they should have her eternal blessings. 

Then came the description of his appearance, 
and his clothing and possessions when he started 
on his sudden journey; and with that, Clickett’s 


40 


CALEB CLICKETT 


uneasiness returned, for every article tallied ex- 
actly with the strange possessions of Buck Law- 
less, when he showed such a desperate desire to 
get far away from the old detective — a gentle- 
man’s fine suit, extra nice button-shoes, silk 
necktie, a gold watch, a locket containing fair 
hair, a magnificent seal ring, and a well-filled 
pocket-book. 

The circumstance was so strange that Clickett 
turned, and brought out the first of these that 
came to his hand — the locket — and said to 
her: 

“Is that anything like the locket he wore?" 

She took the trinket with awe and amazement, 
opened it hurriedly, and nearly dropped it, in 
her agitation. 

“That is his locket,’’ she faintly breathed. 
“Oh, has anything happened?” 

“To him? I think not,” calmly answered the 
detective, bringing out the watch and ring, which 
she identified in the same way. “I think he has 
merely got into bad hands, and been robbed. ” 

Then he started and thought, for, like a flash, 
he remembered that dead tramp, with the clean 
skin and white hands, found on Townsend ave- 
nue, near the junction with Forbes avenue and 
Main street. 

“You do know something?” she cried, noting 
the change in his manner. “Something has hap- 


THE MYSTERY SOLI^&D 


41 


pened to him. He has killed himself, and I am 
the cause ! ” 

“No, no!” cried Clickett, just to save her from 
hysterics. “I think I can produce a man who 
knows where he is," and he touched a bell and 
ordered Buck Lawless to be brought in from the 
lock-up. 

The prisoner appeared in a few minutes, still 
wearing the fine clothes, and looking as ridicu- 
lous as a Jew peddler in a dress suit. 

Miss Scofield started at the odd spectacle, and 
evidently recognized the clothes, for she stared 
at them with growing horror and apprehension. 

“Do you recognize the various articles he has 
on?” asked the detective, quietly, of the lady. 

“Yes — oh, yes! ” 

Lawless started and trembled frightfully, but 
still made no remark. 

“Buck, the lady wants to know where you left 
the owner of that suit of clothes, and of the 
watch and other things found on your person 
when you were brought here. ” 

“I don^t know — upon my soul, I don’t know, 
sir,” he vociferously answered, with the sweat 
trickling down from his brow. “I — I got them 
at a house just outside the town, an’ I disremem- 
ber where th’ house is.” 

“Was it anywhere in the neighborhood of Towns- 
end avenue?” suddenly inquired the detective; 


42 


CALEB CLICKETT 


and if he had fired a cannon close to his ear, the 
effect could not have been more magical. Law- 
less dropped as suddenly as though he had been 
knocked down. 

"Booked for the gallows, ’’ said the detective to 
himself, as they picked the prisoner up, and gave 
him a drink of water. But when he had recov- 
ered, he still persisted that he knew nothing 
whatever of the whereabouts of the owner of the 
clothes. 

In mercy to Miss Scofield, Clickett said noth- 
ing of his suspicions, but dismissed her with the 
assurance that he would do all in his power for her 
help and comfort. 

As Lawless was being led off again, the old de- 
tective said to him: 

"I think I know your secret, my fine fellow, 
and you’ll be hanged, as sure as fate." 

He uttered a wild and groveling protest of in- 
nocence, and was dragged off, nearly taking the 
lapel of Clickett’s coat with him, for he loudly 
appealed to that distinguished official to save 
him, as he knew, he said, that he had no murder 
in him. 

The indefatigable detective now hastened out 
to Dr. Norton’s residence, on Whitney avenue, 
and that same evening he and the doctor were 
driven out to the little country church-yard in 
East Haven, where the dead tramp had been buried. 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 


43 


As soon as the coffin had been exhumed and 
opened, the mystery was solved, for the doctor 
instantly identified the body as that of his son, 
Herbert Norton. • At the same time he expressed a 
decided opinion that his son had been murdered 
by Lawless for the sake of his possessions, the 
murderer then changing clothes with his victim 
to avoid discovery. 

Clickett was inclined, from Lawless’ conduct, 
to agree with this opinion, though it was against 
that of the police surgeon who had examined the 
body; so, on their return to the city. Lawless was 
had up before the judge of the City Court, and 
formally charged with the murder. 

Then followed a strange scene of groveling and 
cowardly terror. Lawless threw himself on his 
knees, and declared that he had feared this very 
thing all along, and that if he were hanged he 
would die an innocent man. 

“I’ll tell th’ truth, and th’ whole truth now,” 
he whiningly continued; “for if I’d told it be- 
fore, nobody would have believed me. I came 
along from South End an’ th’ shore beyond that 
day, an’ had a precious hard time of it, for no- 
body wouldn’t give me nothin’, an’ I put off so 
much time that it was dark before I could get 
nigh a snoozin’ place. Well,” he continued, 
swallowing a gulp, “I was peggin’ along, blast- 
ing everybody, when I came right on a man lying 


44 


CALEB CLICKETT 


across th’ road, drunk, as I thought. I fell over 
him, in fact, an’ barked my nose on the hard 
road, an’ swore at him, an’ gave him a kick, 
thinkin’ he was beastly drunk. He never said 
nothin’ nor stirred, so I stooped down an’ gave 
him a shake. He never answered, an’ he was as 
cold as ice, an’ then I seed that he was dead. 
There was no blood on him, nor no hurt that I 
could see, so he must have suicided himself with 
poison, I think. When I was a touchin’ him up,” 
Lawless continued, after a moment’s hesitation, 
‘T felt his watch-chain, an’ then I thought as a dead 
man didn’t need no watches nor chains, it 
wouldn’t be wrongin’ him much to take them; 
so I took all he’d got. After that I thought 
his togs was too good to leave, so I took them 
off, an’ not to look like robbery, I put my old 
rags on him instead o’ them. If I was to die 
this blessed minute, that’s th’ real truth. I never 
put a finger on him, nor hurt him, nor knocked 
him down to rob him, nor nothin’. If anybody 
killed him before that, it wasn’t me.” 

Not one who listened to this extraordinary 
story believed it, though all were obliged to 
admit that Buck’s desperately anxious manner 
and eager delivery seemed to corroborate the 
declaration. He had no further statement to 
make except as to the pawning of the watch, and 
was accordingly locked up on the capital charge. 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 


45 


When Herbert Norton’s father was leaving 
the office he said to Clickett; 

"I have a good rhind to let that rascal hang, 
but there is really a faint shadow of doubt on my 
mind, and for my own comfort I must have the 
matter investigated. One of my medical breth- 
ren — the one I usually call in consultation when 
there is any serious sickness in my own family — 
has several times, in a cautious way, directed 
my attention to Herbert’s strangely excitable 
nature, and I have a suspicion that he believed 
the young man to be suffering from heart dis- 
ease. I know that he constantly warned Herbert 
against running or violent exercise, or excite- 
ment of any kind; so there is just a possibility 
of that brutal being’s story being true.” 

The thought accorded so perfectly with some 
suspicions of Clickett’ s own that he followed 
it up at once by going with Dr. Norton directly 
to the residence of the other physician, which 
was at no great distance, and he promptly de- 
clared that in his opinion Herbert Norton had 
been afflicted with heart disease from his in- 
fancy, and been liable to die at any moment. 

The post-mortem examination fully confirmed 
this statement, and proved beyond all doubt that 
heart disease, and that alone, had caused young 
Norton’s death. Lawless, therefore, was ar- 
raigned in the Court of Common Pleas, not for 


46 


CALEB CLICKETT 


murder, but robbery, and appeared profoundly 
thankful when he got off with six months’ im- 
prisonment. 

Ella Scofield for some tinie believed that she, 
and she alone, was the cause of her lover’s death; 
but a conversation with the doctor, who had fore- 
seen his fate and whom she happened to meet at 
the residence of her friends and neighbors, the 
Mannings, disabused her mind of this error, and 
in time she could think of the past with calmness 
and the future with hope. 


CHAPTER VI 


AT THE GATEWAY OF THE QUINNIPIAC ENGINE AND 
BOILER WORKS — HAWKES AND EMBLER 
IN THE RIVER 

The great Quinnipiac Engine and Boiler Works 
-are perhaps as well and favorably known as any 
establishment of the kind in this country. The 
works are situated on the Quinnipiac River, above 
Forbes avenue and Tomlinson Bridge, and just 
west of Wheller street. The buildings front to 
the street, and run back toward a private dock 
which extends well out into the river and nearly 
to the channel. 

This dock, which is used exclusively by the 
works for landing iron and other materials, and 
for shipping the finished engines and boilers to 
all parts of the world, is shut in from all intrud- 
ers — excepting such as may come by water — by 
a high wall and a great gate through which ail 
the workmen pass in going to and returning from 
the scene of their daily toil. 

It was nearly five o’ clock — the hour for "knock- 
ing off" — one evening, some months after the 
events recorded in the preceding chapters, when 
47 


48 


CALEB CLICKETT 


three men connected with the works were stand- 
ing conversing together in the well-littered yard, 
between the gateway and the dock 

These men were Marshall Manning, the super- 
intendent, a person about forty five or six years 
of age, and one of the best mechanics in the 
country; Eugene Embler, a foreman under Man- 
ning, and also a first-class mechanic; and the 
latter’s bosom friend and almost constant com- 
panion, Oscar Sherman. 

They were consulting as to some improvements 
to be made on an engine for a steam yacht which 
was being built for one of the wealthiest men in 
New York, and were so earnestly engaged that they 
took no notice of what was passing around them. 
Meantime two lovely young girls approached 
the gate from the direction of Townsend avenue, 
and lingered there as if waiting for some of the 
workmen to come out. Evidently they were 
sisters, and the elder might have been twenty- 
three years of age, while the younger was at least 
two years her junior. 

From where they stood they could easily see 
the three men talking together, for they were 
directly in front of the gateway, though well 
back in the yard toward the river. 

"Let me call them," exclaimed the younger 
impatiently; "it’s near enough to five o’clock, 
and I don’t want to stand here while all the men 


H/tlVKES /iND EMBLER IN THE RIVER 


49 


are passing out;” and she took a step for- 
ward. 

"No, no, Elsie!” cried her companion with a 
blush, at the same time seizing her sister by the 
arm to restrain her. “What would Oscar and — 
and Eugene think?” 

"Pshaw! I don’t care what Oscar thinks. But 
for that matter, I know very well he won’t think 
anything I don’t want him to. And as for Eu- 
gene, he’d give the world to have you call out 
to him. ” 

"Now, Elsie! ” 

"Now, Mildred!" 

"Ah, what luck! I’m a fortunate man to have 
the chance of seeing two such pretty girls at 
once. I wonder if there are many like you in 
this Yankee country? — but no, that’s hardly pos- 
sible; and alas for me, I suppose you two are 
waiting for your lovers?” 

Mildred Manning, the elder of the sisters, 
turned upon the speaker indignantly. 

"Sir!" she exclaimed, "by what right do you 
dare to address us? We are not — ” 

"There, there, Mildred!” interrupted her sister 
with a look of withering scorn at the stranger; "I 
wouldn’t notice him. He isn’t worthy of it.” 

"Good gracious!” exclaimed the intruder, "I 
didn’t think a little flattery would be amiss with 
such pretty girls, especially as I overheard you 

Caleb Clickett 4 


50 


CALEB CLICKETT 


talking about the fellows — the ones you’d come 
to meet, as I supposed." 

"We came to meet our father, Mr. Marshall Man- 
ning," said Mildred sternly, "and as I see him yon- 
der, we will go to him at once." 

"Marshall Manning, the superintendent of the 
works — your father — the deuce you say! the very 
man I want to see myself. Ah! here he comes, if 
he’s one of those three; " and just at that moment 
Manning, Embler, and Sherman started toward 
the gate. 

As they drew near, Eugene and Oscar greeted 
the two girls warmly, and at once began talking 
to them, Eugene addressing his remarks more 
particularly to Mildred, and Oscar confining him- 
self to Elsie. 

The stranger advanced toward the superin- 
tendent; but as he did so, he caught a full view 
of Eugene Embler’ s face, and started violently. 

Recovering himself, he looked again, and 
seemed a little puzzled, as though he was not 
quite sure that his first impression had been 
the right one. 

■This man who had come so suddenly upon 
the scene was about thirty-four years of age; he 
was five feet eight and a half inches in height, 
well-proportioned, good-looking, neatly dressed, 
and withal seemed to be one wholly unacquainted 
with adversity. 


HAIVKES AND EMBLER IN THE RI^ER 


51 


On drawing near to the superintendent, he 
offered his hand, saying: 

"You are Mr. Manning, the manager of these 
works; I already know you through your charming 
daughters. I am Brian Hawkes, of New York, or 
perhaps I should say of Washington, as I spend 
the greater part of my time there. I heard 
through my friend Gould that you were building 
a wonderful improved engine for his new steam 
yacht, and being greatly interested in such mat- 
ters, I have come to take a look at it.” 

Manning had been regarding the stranger with 
no great favor, and, truth to tell, there was some- 
thing about the man not well calculated to inspire 
confidence. 

"The works are just about shutting down,” 
said the superintendent, in no very cordial 
tone — "there goes the whistle now — and it would 
be quite inconvenient to show you the engine 
to-night. Couldn’t you call in the morning?” 

A shade of disappointment and annoyance 
crossed the stranger’s face, but he tried not to 
show it. 

"Oh, for that matter,” he said lightly, "I can 
call any time during the next two or three days, 
as I am likely to be stopping in the city. Tve 
left my baggage at the Elliott House, and rather 
think I shall hang out there.” 

"I’m glad to hear you can put off your curios- 


52 


CALEB CLICK ETT 


ity; ” and, as he spoke, the superintendent drew 
to one side and motioned his daughters back to 
make room for the rushing crowd of workmen 
who now came crowding through the gateway. 

For some moments, and until the men had 
passed, but little more was said; then peering 
into the yard and toward the dock beyond, 
Hawkes suddenly exclaimed: 

“Is that the yacht — Gould’s yacht — lying by 
your wharf there?” 

“Yes,” said Manning, dryly ‘it is.” 

“Well, you can let me take a look at her, can’t 
you, even if I can’t see her engine? I won’t 
keep 3^ou long. ” 

The superintendent cast a questioning look 
toward Embler, who in his turn was regarding 
the stranger with a puzzled and, withal, uneasy 
expression. 

The young man, still keeping his eyes fixed on 
the new-comer’s face, nodded in answer to the 
questioning look, and when Manning said briefly, 
“Come,” he followed after the superintendent 
and the stranger, while Oscar Sherman and the 
two young girls remained together by the gate. 

“Where have I seen that man before?” Eugene 
Embler asked himself a dozen times, as, keep- 
ing a little in the rear, he followed the others 
toward the wharf. “If I hadn’t heard him say 
his name was Brian Hawkes, I should think 


HAIVKES AND EMBLER IN THE RIVER 


53 


it was — was — ah! well — something .else. But, 
pshaw! it can’t be — it can't be that villain. And 
yet — ” 

"Embler, ” said the superintendent, suddenly 
turning toward him, “you’ve got the keys to the 
cabin and state-rooms, haven’t you?” 

“Not with me,” was the reply. “They are in my 
locker upstairs, and now the works are closed.” 

“Embler — Eugene Embler] Iflioughtso!” said 
the stranger to himself. “I am hardly ever 
wrong, and I never forget a face. Ah! he’d bet- 
ter not cross my path now; I’d crush him as I 
would a worm!” 

"Aloud he said; 

“So, then, it seems I can’t even examine the 
yacht itself to-night. I’d no idea you struck 
work at this hour. Seems to me the working class 
are getting high and mighty nowadays, and 
want all the privileges of the rich.” 

“Young man,” said the superintendent sternly, 
“are you an American? ” 

“Why, yes, I suppose so. ” 

“Then, don’t you know that one man’s as good 
as another, unless he’s a villain?” 

Mr. Brian Hawkes shrank a little; but quickly 
recovering himself, said, lightly: “Oh, I’ve no 
objection to the working-people’s having a good 
time — in fact, all the fun they can get. If the 
bosses can stand it I can.” 


54 


CALEB CLICKETT 


By this time they were at the edge of the 
wharf, near the stern of the beautiful yacht. 

“If I can^t go aboard, I must see all I can of 
her hull,” he said, and leaned far out over the 
water to read her name and admire the carved 
work. 

Now, whether it was because his head was so 
much heavier than his body, or because he had 
taken a glass or two of strong liquor on his way 
from the hotel to the river, we can’t say; but one 
thing is certain: before he could get a good view 
of what he wanted to see, he lost his balance, and 
went plunging into the rapidly flowing current, 
which at this point sets strongly toward Tom- 
linson Bridge, and then flows out into the har- 
bor, and from thence into Long Island Sound. 

It was now late in the year; the days were 
short, and it was already growing dark. Those 
waiting at the gateway saw a moving body in the 
air and heard a loud splash. An instant later, 
they thought they heard another plunge. 

‘My God! there’s something wrong on the 
dock,” cried Sherman. "I must see what it is, 
and render assistance if I can. Stay here, dear 
Elsie, with Mildred.” 

He ran through the yard, and suddenly met 
Marshall Manning, who came rushing breathless- 
ly toward him. 

“Eugene Embler and Mr. Hawkes! ” he gasped. 


HAIVKES AND HMELER IN THE RIl^ER 


55 


"We were at the edge of the dock, and Havvkes 
fell overboard. Eugene jumped in after him.” 

"Let me go and save him," cried Oscar. "Eu- 
gene saved me once when I was a boy. Let me 
try and save him now." 

"It would be madness, my dear fellow — sheer 
madness,” Manning replied. "Run and give the 
alarm. That is all we can do now." 

Oscar turned to obey. On reaching the gate 
the girls stopped him. 

"What is it, Oscar? oh, what is it?” asked Mil- 
dred, breathlessly. 

Hurriedly he told her. 

"Eugene in the swift current of the river, try- 
ing to save a drowning man! Oh, my God! he 
will himself perish! " and overcome with terror 
and grief, she would have fallen had not her 
sister sprung forward and caught her in her 


arms. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE “quiet home” — MRS. CRANDALL DISGUSTED — 
EUGENE^S AGONY 

Just south of Forbes avenue, and hence at no 
very great distance away, was a neat little hotel 
called the “Quiet Home,” kept by a widow, Mrs. 
Charity Crandall, a sister of Marshall Manning. 

Mrs. Crandall was, and had always been, a very 
independent woman, so that when she found her- 
self alone in the world,, with nothing but the 
house she lived in, and that heavily mortgaged, 
she turned it into a family hotel, and began 
keeping boarders. 

Years had passed since then, and now the 
house was twice as large as formerly, and what^s 
more, she did not owe a doll-ar in the world, and 
she had pretty handsome deposits in at least two 
of the city banks. 

Mrs. Crandall had a regular hotels license, and 
so could, and to a certain extent did, furnish 
her guests with wines and liquors; but she knew 
very well who to give them to and who to re- 
fuse. 

On the evening of the accident at the dock of 
56 


MRS. CRANDALL DISGUSTED 


the engine and boiler works, she was busy 
with quite a little company in a room just off the 
bar, when the front door opened, and Marshall 
Manning, his two daughters, Mildred and Elsie, 
Eugene Embler, Oscar Sherman, and one or two 
others entered, bearing between them the appar- 
ently lifeless body of Brian Hawkes. 

For a time the good widow was all sympathy. 
A room on the first floor was quickly made 
ready, and there the unconscious form was car- 
ried. Then began the work of resuscitation, and 
after a time Hawkes opened his eyes. 

“What’s the matter?” he demanded, slowly 
raising himself to a sitting posture. “What’s 
the matter, I’d like to know?” 

“Matter enough,” said the widow. “You fell 
overboard, and would have been drowned, an 
hour ago, but for Eugene Embler here. He 
jumped in and saved your life.” 

“Oh, he did, eh?” and Hawkes turned and 
looked at Embler with a sullen scowl. 

“Ten to one he pushed me in,” he muttered. 
“However, I won’t let him know just yet that I 
think so,” and thrusting his hand into his pock- 
et, he drew out a ten-dollar gold-piece, and 
reaching it out toward Eugene, said: 

“H^re, fellow, take that.” 

“Fellow yourself!” cried Embler hotly, as he 
struck the money from the other’s hand. “Go to 


58 


CALEB CLICKETT 


the devil, sir, and take your gold with you;” and 
with a darkening brow he hastily left the room. 

"One thing is very evident," said Mrs. Crandall 
frankly. "Whoever you may be, sir, you can’t be 
much of a gentleman, for you’ve no nice sense of 
feeling; otherwise you would not have hurt the 
sensibilities of such a noble young man as Eu- 
gene Embler. ” 

"What right has a common^ workingman like 
him to feel hurt when I offer to pay him for a 
service he has rendered me?” asked Hawkes in- 
solently. 

"Oh, if you value your life at only ten dol- 
lars, I haven’t another word to say,” was the 
quiet reply; and then the fellow flushed a little, 
and shut up. 

"Come,” said the widow to those about her, 
"we’d better leave him alone now. Rest and 
sleep are what he wants; ” and they all followed 
her from the room. 

It was a broad sofa upon which Hawkes was re- 
clining, and presently he fell asleep. 

Hardly had he lost consciousness when the door 
noiselessly opened, and Mrs. Crandall softly 
entered, and approaching the sofa, looked 
thoughtfully down upon him. 

"It’s an evil face,” she murmured cr; "aeu 1, 
bad face, and I wish they had never brought 
him here. I wish— God forgive me !— that Eugene 


MRS. CRANDALL DISGUSTED 


no 


Embler had left him to perish in the Quin- 
nipiac. I believe if he had, much misery would 
have been spared us all. Hark! what’s he say- 
ing?” 

The sleeper was evidently troubled by bad 
dreams. His face worked convulsively, and 
now and again audible words dropped from his 
lips, such as “money,” “stolen,” “forgery,” 
“good piece of work,” “father,” “her brother,” 
“hunted,” all of which promptly convinced Mrs. 
Crandall that the man had a guilty secret to 
hide; and being a warm-hearted, honest woman, 
who detested crime, her dislike for him, engen- 
dered by his insolent bearing toward Eugene 
Embler, was greatly increased. 

Presently Hawkes awoke with a start, and 
hurriedly asked what she was doing there. 

She gave him no hint that she had overheard 
anything to rouse her suspicions, but said she 
had come to tell him that his bed was ready, and 
that the sooner he was in it the better. 

“Well,” growled Hawkes, “I suppose you know 
what’s good for me a blamed sight better than I 
know myself, and so I must submit;” and he 
slowly started to his feet. 

"Yes,” snapped the widow; “as Pve taken care 
of quite a number of half-drowned men — and 
better men than you, let me tell you — I think I 
know what’s good for them; so come along, and 


60 


CALEB CLICKETT 


don’t take up any more of my time, which is 
valuable, I’d have 5’ou know, whatever yours may 
be; " and silenced, if not conquered, Brian Haw^kes 
followed her ffom the room. 

Meantime, on leaving the Quiet Home, Eugene 
Embler w^as brimming over with indig;nation, and 
not altogether free from jealousy, called into ex- 
istence by what seemed to him Mildred Man- 
ning's obvious sympathy with Brian Hawkes, and 
still more by Hawkes’ undisguised and insinuat- 
ing advances t© the girl, which, if others had not 
noticed, he had. 

Letting the others get ahead of him after they 
had said good-night to Mrs. Crandall, he slowly 
followed them to the superintendent’s cottage, 
well down the avenue toward the cove, changed 
his soaking garments for a dry suit, and al- 
though Marshall Manning pressed him to stay 
and have supper with them, he took leave hur- 
riedly, and with ill-concealed agitation. 

Oscar Sherman, who had looked forward to 
some hours spent in the company of the girl he 
loved, did his best to persuade bis friend to 
remain and rest after his exertions, but Embler 
would not hear of it; and so, to Oscar’s disap- 
pointment, within a few minutes of his arrival at 
the cottage, he was called upon to accompany 
Eugene back to the lodgings which they shared 
in the lower part of the city — that is to say, on 


MRS. CRy^ND^LL DISGUSTED 


61 


Hamilton street, between Wooster and Chapel. 

The horse-cars ran to the city side of Tomlin- 
son Bridge, and it rather surprised Oscar that, 
after crossing the bridge, and on reaching the 
terminus, where a car was standing, his com- 
panion should pay no attention to it what- 
ever, but hasten over to the plank walk on the 
left-hand side of the street, and hurry forward 
with all speed in the direction of Collins street, 
as if walking for a wager. 

“You^re not going to walk all the way home, 
are you, Eugene?" he asked, wondering at the 
stern, set face of his friend. 

"Yes; I must keep moving to-night, Oscar," 
answered Embler gravely, and with a slight con- 
traction of his brows. 

"Well, perhaps you are right, Eugene. You 
might take a chill if you sat still, as you would 
have to in a horse-car." 

"It isn’t that, Oscar, my boy. I care little 
whether I do or not. I must keep going to-night 
for other reasons, or I should go mad; " and Eugene 
Embler quickened his already rapid pace. 

"What! is it as bad as that?" returned the 
younger man, understanding him with the ready 
sympathy of true friendship. 

"As bad, or as good ; I scarcely know which to 
say," answered Eugene huskily. 

"I should say as bad, if it’s going to make you 


G2 


CALEB CLICKETT 


glum and unsociable,” said Sherman ; but he added 
quickly: "I can’ t bear to see you like this, Eugene. 
No woman in the world is worth the worry you 
are giving yourself.” 

His companion turned upon him rather sharply. 

‘‘I thought you were getting to be something 
of a man, Oscar; but I see you’re only a boy as 
yet, and can’t understand the strength of a man’s 
passion. ” 

“Thank goodness, I can’t, if yours is a speci- 
men of its working,” retorted Oscar, whose self- 
esteem was just a trifle hurt. Not understand, 
indeed! and he ready to go to the world’s end 
for Elsie, or make a fool of himself in any par- 
ticular way she might designate. 

“Well, Oscar,” continued Embler kindly, tak- 
ing the young man by the arm as he spoke, 
“don’t you bother yourself about me. It’s no 
use. I’m too far gone for anything ever to be 
any good again,” he added bitterly 

“I can’t see why you should say that, Eugene,” 
returned Oscar quickly. “If it had been me, I 
could understand it.” 

“Nonsense! Oscar. You have a life’s happiness 
in store for you, my boy — a happiness such as I 
can never know;” and Eugene Embler pressed his 
lips tightly together, and hurried forward with a 
swifter step, as if he would leave some haunting 
sorrow far behind him. 


MRS. CRANDALL DISGUSTED 


C3 


“But why don’t you to speak to her, Eugene, 
and have it over with?" asked his young com- 
panion, with a little hesitation. 

To his surprise, Embler turned upon him almost 
fiercely. 

“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Oscar. Why 
don’t you speak to Elsie, and have it over with, if 
it comes to that?” 

A comical look of consternation overspread poor 
Oscar’s ruddy face, as he stammered out: 

“Me? Me speak to Elsie Manning — about — on 
that subject? Why, I earn less than fifteen dol- 
lars a week on an average. What’s that to go to 
a girl seriously with. And if she should say 'No’ 
once — ” 

“Well, I don’t think she would. But if she 
did, she would soon say ‘Yes.’ Trust me, Oscar, 
you’re safe enough, my boy. I wish I could have 
the fiftieth part of your hope;” and he sighed 
heavily, and turned away. 

His companion’s almost boyish face flushed 
with pleasure; then he replied: 

“Here are you, earning your twenty-five dol- 
lars and more every week, and — ” 

“Now look here, Oscar,” said Embler quickly; 
“you’re a first-rate fellow, and mean well, but 
you don’t know the reason why I can’t speak to — 
to Mildred Manning — and I can’t tell you.” 
Then, suddenly altering his tone, he added more 


64 


CALEB CLICKETT 


gently, but with an apparent effort; “Yes — I will 
tell you. I believe I can trust you.” 

“Yes, indeed, Eugene, you know that,” inter- 
posed Oscar Sherman heartily. 

“Yes, I know I can, and I will tell you why I 
can’t speak to Mildred. May be it will do me 
good to have it out, for I have no one else I can 
speak to about it, and it is killing me; worse, it 
is driving me mad,” he added, with passionate 
pain quivering in every accent. 

His companion grew very grave as he answered: 

“Tell me, Eugene — I thought there was some- 
thing worrying you — tell me; perhaps I can help 
' you. ” 

“No, no; you can’t do that — no one can help 
me. I am past help; but I will tell you all the 
same. It ihay at least make it not quite so hard 
to bear;” and, with a long, hard-drawn breath, 
Eugene Embler began the story of his life trouble. 


CHAPTER VIII 


EUGENE EMBLER’S TERRIBLE SECRET 

"You sa}^ Oscar,” were the young foreman’s 
first words, “that you have noticed that I have 
been very grave of late. I have had reason to 
be. I might be so happy but for one thing, 
and that one thing makes all the difference be- 
tween a life that is spoiled and a life that is 
worth the living.” 

He paused, breathing hard and quickly, like 
a man oppressed, as in truth he was. As they 
hastened along the now quiet, hard-paved street 
which led toward their boarding-house, the very 
air seemed peopled with shadows from the past. 
They came out of that earthly hell — a ruined life. 

Presently Eugene Embler resumed his self- 
appointed task, though with an obvious effort, 
and to*Oscar^s surprise, he began in a new way. 

“Do you remember your mother, Oscar?” 

The younger man started. The sudden ques- 
tion brought tears into his eyes. It was with a 
husky voice that he replied: 

“Ah, yes, Eugene; I shall forget all else be- 
fore I forget her. ” 

Caleb Clickett 5 


65 


66 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"Then you are a great deal happier than I have 
ever been, my dear fellow. My mother died 
when I was born, and although my father was a 
just man, and did his duty by me according to his 
lights, I never knew what it was to have the soft 
touch, the tender care of a mother. Good God! 
Oscar, if children only knew what it was to be 
motherless, how good they would be to their 
mothers while they have them- -those that are 
luckier than ever I was." 

There was silence for a few moments, and 
Oscar Sherman pulled out his pipe and lighted 
it, finding his feelings too acute to be expressed. 

By and by Eugene Embler resumed the thread 
of his thoughts where for the moment he had 
dropped it. 

"Ah! Oscar, my boy, I sometimes think that if 
I had been like other boys; if I had known a 
childhood like others — with some brightness in it, 
some love — my manhood might have been very 
different. As it was, I just tumbled through the 
first half-dozen years of my life, strong and 
sturdy, it is true, but always covered with 
cuts, and bumps, and bruises, and scrambled 
through the next dozen picking up such knowl- 
edge as I could, but without helping hand, or 
kindly thought, or word of needed guidance. 
My father was a poor man, full of his own 
cares, and God forbid that I should blame him. 


EMBLER'S TERRIBLE SECRET 


67 


There were times, as I afterward knew, when he 
had a hard struggle to keep body and soul to- 
gether, and he took such care of me as he could; 
but beyond finding me in food and clothing, and 
giving me a roof to lie under, until such time as 
I was to go out into the world and shift for my- 
self, he was but little of a father to me. A 
pinched and poverty-stricken life makes even 
good men hard, Oscar, and his was hard enough, 
God knows. " 

“Was he a city man, Eugene?” asked his friend, 
to whom the skilled foreman had never, in all 
their close acquaintance, spoken so freely about 
himself before. 

“No; Guilford — ancient, peaceful, pretty Guil- 
ford — was my native place; but even as a child I 
used to stand on an elevation back of our house, 
at sunset, and while I felt how lovely it all was, 
my mind would go speeding away beyond the 
hills that shut us in, and I grew discontented 
with my c^uiet life, and longed to take my place 
in one of the big cities. Poor fool!" he added, 
bitterly, after a slight pause. “How much like 
moths are we men! The glare of the lights of 
some great town reflected in the sky attracts us; 
we follow it, and plunge into the flame, only to 
emerge, if we escape at all, scarred and disfigured, 
and it may be blackened, out of all likeness of 
our former selves.” 


68 


CALEB CLICKETT 


“And SO you went to one of the big cities? ’’ said 
Oscar; “which one?" 

“To Boston, for a while. There was a young 
fellow in Guilford then — Tm speaking of the 
time when I was little more than sixteen — a 
strapping young fellow, and earning a few dol- 
lars a week in the same establishment where my 
father worked at making boxes and the like, 
who had lived all his life in Boston, and his talk 
fairly turned my head. Moreover, my father’s 
work was never to my mind, and as I knew very 
well he would not weep over me, and as I had 
no friends worth speaking of to tie me to my 
native town, I packed up my belongings one day, 
and shaking hands with my father, set out to 
seek my fortune in Boston. It would have been 
well for me had I stopped there. But no; I was 
like a tiger that had tasted blood. Bless you, 
Oscar, my ideas of my own importance---though 
heaven knows how they sprouted so freely, for 
they had no encouragement from any living soul — ■ 
were so high and mighty then, that even Boston 
itself was not really big enough for me. As I 
had listened in Guilford to the Boston boy, so 
now my imagination was set on fire by stories 
of New York, told by a man who was born there, 
and who, although he was earning a better living 
in Boston than he had ever had before, was al- 
ways craving to go back. They say that a man 


EMBLER'S TERRIBLE SECRET 69 

who has once been bitten by the New York fever 
never gets over it, and it was so in this case. 
Tom Stafford was never weary of chanting the 
praises of his native city; and thinking, like the 
young fool I was, that money lay about its streets, 
to be picked up by any lad of spirit, I determined 
to go. I had saved up quite a number of dollars 
from my earnings, and taking the Shore Line 
Railroad, so as to stop off at Guilford and say 
farewell to my father, I started for New York 
one winter’s day, full of pride and hope." 

Embler paused. The air was very thick with 
shadows now. With a hurried gesture of repul- 
sion, the man dashed his hand across his eyes, 
as if to sweep away some horrid vision before 
he resumed the revelations of his past life. 

"Well," he went on, "dazzled by these stories, 
and over-confident in the strength of my youth, I 
went to New York, and to that most unhappy 
step I owe my ruined life. Aye, Oscar, my dear 
boy, it is terrible for a man to stand helpless, 
and feel himself dragged down and down; for his 
soul to stand outside his own life and see it 
spoiled and broken — and that has been my fate. 
Do you wonder now if my shopmates have 
thought me a little dull, and grave beyond my 
years? " 

For answer, the faithful Oscar pressed his 
friend’s arm as they turned from Coll is street 


70 


CALEB CLICKETT 


into Hamilton, and strode northward toward their 
home. 

“It was not that I failed,” continued Eugene. 
“It is true that I, as well as thousands like me, 
didn^t find New York to be the gold-mine I had 
dreamed of ; but for all that, I had no cause to 
grumble. I soon secured work under a first-rate 
engine-builder, for I had long ago made up my 
mind that I would be one of the first in that call- 
ing, and I had worked, and worked hard, too, in a 
machine-shop in Boston; and now, although I had 
to begin low down, I kept my eyes open, and 
worked harder than ever, and by the time I had 
been there eighteen months I was earning my 
fifteen dollars a week, and not killing myself 
either. That was all right enough, and I was 
able to send my father a trifle now and then, 
as he was getting well along in years, and, as 
I learned by his rare letters, was without very 
steady work. This went on for another year. 
I was making my way steadily, and earning more 
money than I could have hoped, when suddenly 
all was changed.” 

Swiftly and silently now he strode along. It 
seemed as if the shadows of the past flocked 
about him again so thickly that they stifled him. 

He kept silent for such a length of time that 
at last Sherman asked quietly, “What changed 
it, Eugene?" 


EMBLER'S TERRIBLE SECRET 


71 


His answer soon came, bursting passion- 
ately from the strong man’s lips, as if half 
in agony, half welcoming the relief of utterance. 

“A woman! ” 

“A woman?" echoed his companion in accents 
of surprise, for Eugene Embler was the last 
man whom he or most people would have sus- 
pected of any entanglement of that kind. 

"Aye, a woman — if it is not a libel upon the 
sex to call her one. Women such as she are at 
the root of half the crime and misery in the 
world,” returned the young foreman, with bitter- 
ness and anguish in his voice. 

"What did she do?” asked Oscar, in a hesitat- 
ing way, half afraid of the sudden outburst of 
passion of which he had been the witness, com- 
ing as it did from one usually so calm and self- 
controlled. 

"Do?” echoed the elder man, with a harsh 
laugh; "ask rather what she did not do.” 

After a few moments spent in recovering com- 
mand of himself, he added, in slow, deliberate 
tones, as if with every item which he enumerated 
in the black catalogue of her misdoings he was 
weighing again the misery this woman had 
caused him: 

"She did what women of her kind love to do: 
entice, allure, befool, madden with passion, then 


72 


• CALEB CLICKETT 


laugh, lie, and drive their victims to despair 
and to the devil." 

"I am sorry for you, Eugene," said his com- 
panion. "Then it was this — " 

"Yes, my boy, it was this that made me old be- 
fore my time — a soured, disappointed man at 
heart, though I have tried my best to keep a 
brave face and a stiff upper lip before the 
world." 

The younger man looked up at his friend as he 
blurted out in his honest, blunt style: 

"But surely, Eugene, that’s all over now? It 
couldn’t go on forever, you know.” 

Embler turned upon his young companion a 
look of unutterable sadness, full of the misery 
of that despair which can only be realized by a 
.strong man who finds himself confronted with 
one damning, crushing fact which not all his 
strength of soul or body can destroy. 

"You don’t understand, Oscar; you don’t un- 
derstand. It’s not all over. It can and must 
go on until death cuts the thread." 

"What is it, then? What do you mean, Eu- 
gene?" asked the young man, to whose mind the 
terrible truth had not yet presented itself. 

"I mean, Oscar," answered Embler wearily, 
"that in the hot days of my youth I committed 
the most fatal folly that can blast and ruin a 
man’s life. I married — yes, married — a vile 


EMBLER'S TERRIBLE SECRET 


73 


woman, and that woman still lives, and is still 
my wife.” 

"The deuce! " exclaimed Sherman, in conster- 
nation; "you arc in a bad fix, old fellow — far 
worse than I had any idea of." 


CHAPTER IX 

THE LETTER BORDERED WITH BLACK — "l AM FREE!” 

"Yes,” said Embler with a groan, after a mo- 
ment’s pause, “J am in a bad fix — a very bad fix 
indeed, there’s no mistake about that.” 

"Who was the woman you married?” asked Os- 
car hesitatingly. 

“Woman? woman?” muttered Eugene. “She 
was one who had nothing womanly about her ex- 
cept the form — the ripe, red lips, the masses of 
black hair, the great, dark eyes, the soft, yielding 
figure, the tempting smile, and all the thousand 
deviltries with which such creatures bait the 
hooks for fools like me. Yes,” he continued, 
“these were womanly enough, as such women go; 
but of modesty, truth, love, tenderness — all that 
makes up what the world means when it talks of 
woman — there was not one grain. A good 
woman, Oscar, is a wingless angel ; a bad one, a 
devil in the flesh. This woman, this Ida Ing- 
ham, as she called herself — though very likely 
she had a dozen names, like most women of her 
class — turned my head. With every art that 
her sex can use she made one think that 
74 


THE LETTER BORDERtD IVITH BLACK 


75 


her pink-and-wliite flesh held as true and 
pure a soul as its own beauty seemed to 
suggest. And she appealed to my manhood 
with a tale of loneliness and lack of sym- 
pathy, and a womanly craving for love that 
touched me, and made me, as I thought, her 
champion against a hard and cruel world. 
All lies, Oscar; all lies, lies, lies! But I be- 
lieved in her, and from that it was an easy step 
to marriage — a step taken so quickly, in such a 
mad impulse of passion and of pity, that I had 
no time to think of what the consequences might 
be — consequences which have meant to me a 
miserable, broken life — a life of shame and 
sorrow'. ” 

“But is it not over now?” asked Oscar Sher- 
man, strongly moved by the recital of his friend’s 
story. 

“No, and can never be, I tell you, until one of 
us is released by death. For my own part, I do 
not know whether this woman, who has the right 
to call herself my wife, is alive or dead. Years 
ago she left me — left me without a word. I 
loved her once, or thought I did; but even in 
the short time that our lives were lived together, 
I had learned enough of my wretched wife’s true 
character to know that I had fettered myself with 
the most awful curse that can drag a man down 
to despair. I can’t say with truth that her flight 


76 


CALEB CLICKETT 


was any grief to me. For the moment I drew a 
long breath, as I told myself that relief had 
come at last; but the tie remained and the shame 
remained — the legacy of my mad folly, my blind, 
unreasoning, boyish passion, on which this creat- 
ure traded, never to be broken, never to be lost, 
never to be passed by — a misery to last me, so 
far as I could tell, all my life long." 

"Have you never heard of her since she left 
you?" asked Oscar Sherman, troubled to the bot- 
tom of his heart by the story of his friend. 

“Never — not a word, not a sign, although it is 
five years now since she left me," answered Em- 
bler, in low, excited tones. 

"Then, don^t you think she is dead? 

"I cannot think so. I must have heard — and 
yet — no, no, it cannot be. Good women die too 
soon; but women like my wife — oh, God ! that 
she should be my wife — live on, and on, and on, 
poisoning the very air, polluting the earth, ru- 
ining men’s bodies and souls. They have no 
hearts, and people with no hearts live long." 

"Yet I should have thought she would have 
written to you, if only for money,” persisted Os- 
car. 

A quick flush dyed his companion’s face as he 
answered: 

"Women like that, so long as they keep their 
beauty, do not need such poor moneyed help as 


THE LETTER BORDERED IVITH BL /iCK 


77 


I could give them. It was not for money that 
Ida Ingham first took up with me. God help 
me! I don’t know what it was that led her to 
smile upon me and dazzle me into madness. In 
truth, I believe she had, or should have had, 
money of her own; but a brother — a clever fellow 
with the pen, and a consummate villain in every 
way — by an audacious forgery, robbed her of it. 
She had a brother and a sister, for even such 
creatures as she do not always stand alone in the 
world, but I can’t say positively that I ever saw 
either of them; that is — but never, mind that. 
I — well, I saw some one only to-day who remind- 
ed me strangely of her, though I cannot think 
that the resemblance was more than a mere, 
chance. ” 

“But can’t you find out — ” 

“Why should I? What could I gain? If I 
could gain my freedom! Ah, if I could but get 
that! ” and Eugene Enabler sighed like a man who 
had well-nigh given up all hope. 

“I understand,” said. Sherman quietly. 

“Yes, it is as you think,” answered Eugene, 
gravely. "It is only since I have known Mildred 
Manning that I have felt to the uttermost the 
terrible misery that I have laid up for myself. I 
don’t know — perhaps I may be deceiving myself, 
for I dare not speak to her, and yet I cannot but 
think that if I were but free, the greatest happi- 


78 


CALEB CLICKETT 


ness that a man can know this side of heaven. ^ 
the love of a pure, good woman — might be mine/' 

“I am sure of it,” said Sherman, with convic- 
tion in his tones as well as in his words. 

But Eugene Embler made a sign as if he wouxd 
ask him to say no more. The thought of so 
much happiness being within reach, yet that he 
dare not stretch out his hand to take it, was in- 
tolerable; and with a sharp rpasm of pain dis- 
torting his features, he said, in low, hoarse 
tones: 

“Don’t tell me that, Oscar. It is the greatest 
joy and the greatest misery I could know. 

Then, after a moment’s silence, he added, more 
calmly: 

“We are getting near home now. Let us for- 
get all that has passed, as far as we can. It has 
been painful enough to me to call up this 
wretched story of my past life, but I am glad 
that I have done so, for now you know my se- 
cret, and you, at least, can do me justice.” 

By this time the two men had reached and 
crossed Wooster street, and now they kept on up 
Hamilton until they were more than half-way 
to Chapel, when they stopped in front of a house 
where the lights were still burning in several of 
the rooms, and there was the sound of music and 
laughter in the parlor. 

They ascended the steps to the front door. 


THE LETTER BORDERED IVITH BLACK 79 

which, not being locked, Oscar at once opened; 
and, without pausing for a moment in the hall, 
they ascended to their own room on the third 
floor. 

It was Embler who opened the chamber-door, 
and, striking a match, lighted the gas. There 
was a table just in front of him, and the first 
thing to attract the attention of the unhappy 
man, as he put the burned match in a receptacle 
for the purpose, was a letter lying conspicuously 
in the very center of the table, and close by the 
receptacle, where it could not fail to catch his 
eye. 

The letter bore his address in a weak, strag- 
gling, woman’s handwriting, and — which was 
the first thing Embler observed — was deeply 
bordered with black. 

Oscar Sherman, who was tired with his long 
tramp, had noticed nothing. Intent upon reliev- 
ing himself of his heavy boots, he had flung him- 
self into the nearest chair, not even glancing at 
the table, and his first intimation that anything 
had happened was conveyed by a sharp, peculiar 
cry from his friend. 

Looking up, he saw Eugene standing like a 
man suddenly stricken into stone, holding an 
open letter in his hand, gazing at it with wide- 
opened eyes, and with lips that moved, but with- 
out word or sound. 


80 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"What is it, Eugene? what is it?" asked Oscar 
Sherman, sure that something extraordinary had 
happened. 

For a moment Eugene Embler seemed as if he 
had heard nothing. Then, turning to Oscar, still 
holding the letter in his hand, he gasped out in 
hoarse, excited tones: 

"See! see! — this letter — this letter! She is 
dead! she is dead! And — God forgive me for 
rejoicing! — I — I am glad, for I am free!" 


CHAPTER X 


MRS. CRANDALL AND BRIAN HAWKES THE SUPERIN- 

TENDENT’S MODEL 

Upon the morning following his escape from 
a tragic and untimely death in the waters of the 
Quinnipiac, Brian Hawkes woke comparatively 
well. There was still a little lameness from a blow 
he had received on his leg and foot, but all 
signs of feverishness had left him, and his head 
was as cool and clear,, and as ready for the first 
bit of deviltry within his reach, as ever it was in 
all his life. 

“Eh, but you weren’t born to be drowned, I 
reckon,” was Mrs. Charity Crandall’s dry salutation 
when, upon her inquiry early in the morning as to 
the condition of her unexpected and unwelcome 
guest, that gentleman had answered with a ques- 
tion as to what he could have for breakfast. 

“I thought last night you’d eaten your last bite 
and taken your last sup on this earth,” said Mrs. 
Crandall, and there was a disappointed inflection 
in her voice which seemed to add, of its own 
accord, “and small would have been my mourn- 
ing for you if you had.” 

Caleb Cliche tt 6 81 


82 


CALEB CLICKETT 


But the good woman kept this sentiment to 
herself so far as actual words went, and set to 
work to prepare a meal with such activity that 
by the time Brian Hawkes had got into his 
clothes, as comfortable a breakfast smoked for him 
upon the widow’s table as heart could wish. 

“Hash, pork-chops, and griddle-cakes," he 
began as he sat down, sniffing up the comforting 
steam with a grimace; “is that the best you can 
give me?” 

“The best! It’s the best anybody could give 
you to break the neck of a long fast,” said Mrs. 
Crandall, adding, with a toss of the head: “But 
it don’t seem to be to your taste, sir, and God 
forbid that such good food should be wasted on a 
thankless stomach. It would be just casting 
pearls before swine — no more, no less.” 

Brian Hawkes glanced up at her sharply. He 
had no particular taste for this blunt, outspoken, 
touchy Yankee widow, who resented his distaste 
for her wholesome dishes as though he had 
offered her a personal insult. Still, for reasons 
of his own, he had no wish to quarrel with her, 
so he only said, in his mildest manner: 

“Well, Mrs. Crandall, tastes differ; and if I 
don’t like the dishes before me, the loss is mine, 
no doubt.” 

“You’re right there, sure enough, sir; but if I 
were a young man like you. I’d just save myself a 


MRS, CRANDALL AND BRIAN HAIVKES 


83 


peck of trouble in the future by praying to be de- 
livered from a proud bearing and a high stomach. ” 

“Well, praying for anything isn’t much in my 
line," returned Hawkes; and lifting a cover as 
he spoke, from one of two dishes just then brought 
in, he added, "Ah! what have I here?" 

"Well, that’s as fine a fish as has come out of 
the water this season," replied the landlady, "and 
here’s fried ham and eggs; so, whatever your 
taste is, if there’s any reason in you at all, you’ll 
not go hungry for the want of something to sat- 
isfy your liking. " 

"Excellent! I’m as hungry as a wolf, and this 
just suits me," exclaimed Hawkes. “No, don’t 
run away, Mrs. Crandall," he quickly added, as 
the widow seemed about to leave him to consume 
his meal in solitary state. "Tell me, was I very 
bad when they brought me in here last even- 
ing?” 

"Well, as for bad — you’ve soon got over it; 
but there’s no denying that for a time you looked 
uncommonly queer,” returned the lady. 

"And afterward?" said Hawkes, with a rapid 
glance at his companion. 

"Afterward?" echoed Mrs. Crandall. "Well, 
for a time you seemed to be out of your head, 
with your jabbering and muttering, and I thought 
once that I’d have to send for a doctor who under- 
stands insane cases; for, good gracious me! I 


84 


CALEB CLICKETT 


thought you must be beside yourself to talk such 
a mess of stuff as you did." 

"What did I say?" asked Hawkes, pretending 
to go on with his breakfast, but waiting for her 
reply with an eagerness which he could not hide. 

"I told you last night," answered the widow 
hastily, for she had no mind to be cross-examined 
in this fashion. 

"But I forget — ” 

"And why should my old memory be better than 
your young one?” retorted Mrs. Crandall, with 
such an air of decision that Hawkes saw it would 
do him no good and afford him no information 
to pursue the subject any further. So he changed 
his ground. 

"Well, never mind — it’s a matter of no conse- 
quence," he sai-d, with a forced laugh; "only a 
man likes to know that he hasn’t made too big a 
fool of himself when his wits were wandering. 
But tell me — that beautiful girl who was here last 
night — ” 

Mrs. Charity Crandall pulled him up short. 

‘ I know nothing about her. Pretty girls are 
not so scarce in this part of New England. There’s 
that waiting-maid of mine — she’s not so ill-look- 
ing." 

"I mean Miss Manning — you know her?" 

"Oh, yes; I know Mildred Manning well enough; 
and no wonder, she happens to be my niece; 


MRS. CRANDALL AND BRIAN HAIVKES 


85 


and let me tell you, she's not the sort of girl that 
you need to trouble your head about,” and with 
that the widow moved away. 

But Hawkes quickly replied: 

‘‘Ah! I might have known she was a relation 
by the likeness between you.” 

To which audacious piece of flattery Charity 
Crandall returned no other answer than a con- 
temptuous snort as she went out of tjie room to 
attend to her other guests. 

‘‘Her niece, is she?” Hawkes muttered to him- 
self when left alone, ‘‘and Marshall Manning's 
daughter; and Eugene Embler is sweet on her, 
is he? Curse him! I wonder if he knew me. I 
wonder if Ida ever told him that but for my little 
trick when the old man died, she and he would 
have had the money which I so hugely enjoyed to 
the very last dollar. Jove! I was always clever 
with my pen; I took the writing prize at school 
every time; I did some nice work in Chicago, but 
I never "put my talent to such good use as when 
I made my father sign that ‘unnatural' will in 
favor of his beloved and dutiful son Jas — h’m, 
I should say Pey — no! Brian, and cutting dear 
Ida — and Dora, too, for that matter — off with a 
hundred dollars for a mourning outfit. Well,” 
he continued, after a moment of serious thought, 
“I believe Ida suspected something, if she did 
not know it; and if Embler knew, what might 


86 


CALEB CLICKETT 


not he have discovered! Curse him, he may 
be dangerous yet, especially if Ida — but that is 
impossible. Women don’t go back to their dearly 
beloved husbands after a fling of a half a dozen 
years or more, and if they do, husbands don’t 
exchange confidences with them; it would be a 
little too awkward for both. And if he does know 
of that little affair of mine, I have a better card 
to play against him. He can’t get over a mar- 
riage register and certificate. No, he can’t do 
that; so, curse him. I’ll spoil his game with the 
girl anyhow, and if he seems likely to be trouble- 
some — ” but just here his amiable reflections 
were brought to a sudden end by the entrance of 
Marshall Manning. 

"I am glad to see you so well, sir,” were the 
old superintendent’s first words; and Brian 
Hawkes, eager to ingratiate himself with the 
father of Mildred, put out his hand with a 
graceful air of gratitude. 

“Thank you, my friend; I suppose iX was a bit 
of a squeak. But ‘all’s well that ends well.’” 

“Do you go back to the Elliott House, in the 
city, to-day, sir?” asked Manning, hoping, 
though he scarcely knew why, that the answer 
would be “yes.” 

“Well,” replied Brian Hawkes slowly, as if 
there was something on his mind which he was 
debating with himself even while he spoke, “I 


MRS, CRANDALL AND BRIAN HAIVKES 


87 


think not. Pm a little bit lame; besides, Pm 
very comfortable here, and I have a fancy to stop 
right where I am for a day or two. You see, I 
have no one to trouble about me,” he added, 
with an assumption of frankness — “not a soul in 
the wide world; so Pll just send a note to the 
landlord of the Elliott House, and tell him to 
expect me when he sees me. By the way, Mr. 
Manning, I should like to go over your cursed 
works, and see that engine and the yacht, too, 
when my foot and ankle are not quite so pain- 
ful.” 

"When you please, sir,” answered Manning, 
with a slight frown; "but I wouldn’t abuse the 
works. They haven’t their equal in this country, 
and they furnish more than two hundred families 
with their daily bread, so that — " 

"So that you don’t like even to hear their name 
taken in vain,” laughed Hawkes lightly. ‘T 
respect your prejudices, Mr. Manning, and I won’t 
abuse the works again.” 

“When do you think you will pay us your con- 
templated visit, sir?” asked the superintendent, 
who could not bear to contemplate frittering 
away hours of his precious time with a visitor 
like this feather-headed gentleman, who would 
probably be just as wise when he came away as 
when he entered the great gate. 

• 'T can’t say at this moment. You seem to 


88 


CALEB CLICKETT 


grudge me your time, Mr. Manning,” said 
Hawkes, rather sourly. 

"It isn’t that I grudge you my time any more 
than another, Mr. Hawkes. I grudge all waste of 
time — even that I take to eat my meals.” 

“But why? I should have thought you would 
be glad of a little rest now and then." 

‘‘Rest — rest? What have I to do with rest 
till my work is done — my model perfected?” re- 
turned Marshall Manning, with a look in his 
eyes which seemed to say that although his body 
was in Charity Crandall’s ‘‘Quiet Home,” his 
mind was still with his beloved model in the 
pretty little cottage in the vicinity of the Cove. 

A gleam of quick intelligence flashed from 
Hawkes’ dark eyes, as he thought he saw his way 
to getting at least one member of the Manning 
household on his side. 

‘‘I understand. Your model? An inventor, 
Mr. Manning?” he asked, pleasantly. 

‘‘Well, yes, sir; in a small way. But some 
day, if I have but the health and the time, and 
the — " 

“Money?” suggested Hawkes, with an easy 
smile, as Manning stopped suddenly and looked 
a little confused. 

“Well, yes, sir — if I must say it — the money. 
Nothing can be done without money — ” 

“And brains.” 


MRS. CRANDALL AND BRIAN HaU’KES SJ) 

“Oh, brains, of course; but there are many 
men who ought to bring forth good fruit to the 
world, who fail to do so for lack of the means to 
help them to do their work." 

An evil smile flitted across the thin lips of 
Brian Hawkes as he listened to the enthusiast; 
but it was with an earnest face, in which Man- 
ning seemed to read an honest interest in him 
and in his plans, that the subtle villain re- 
plied : 

“I must see this invention of yours, Mr. Man- 
ning. If it is a good thing, I can promise you it 
sha’n’t be lost for want of a little money to bring 
it to perfection." 

A flush of gratification spread over the invent- 
or’s thoughtful countenance, and he replied, in 
tones in which he could not repress the accents 
of eagerness: 

“You, sir — you? It is very kind of you to say 
that — you know so little of me, sir; and besides, 
I didn’t think — " he stopped abruptly, and 
Hawkes interrupted him with a pleasant laugh: 

“That I cared for that sort of thing. My dear 
Mr. Manning, a man may not be blessed with 
much brains himself, but it doesn’t follow that 
he can’t appreciate them in other people. I shall 
certainly come and see this model of yours, if 
you will let me." 

“I shall be delighted, sir, delighted," cried 


00 


CALEB CLICKETT 


the enthusiast, every other consideration promptly 
blotted out by the crowning fact that here was a 
gentleman, apparently, with plenty of money at 
his command, not only taking a deep interest in 
his invention, but volunteering to find the means 
to bring it to that state of perfection which was 
the very dream and purpose of his life. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE HAWK SWOOPS 

"By the way," continued the tempter, not giv- 
ing his victim time for a moment^s sober 
thought, "I know that experiments are expensive, 
and I feel so sure that there’s a fortune in your 
invention, if you think so, that I should be loath 
to see it hindered. Come, I happened to cash 
a little check yesterday before I came here. 
Let me lend you something to keep moving with, 
just to show that I am in earnest, you know." 

By an unhappy conjunction of circumstances, 
Marshall Manning could not deny that his ex- 
periments were ' expensive, and that they had, 
indeed, just reached a critical point, where 
failure or success might almost be said to de- 
pend upon his obtaining certain additional tools 
and appliances, for the purchase of which he 
had no funds. 

The temptation was strong. Had it been any- 
thing concerning his own comfort, Marshall Man- 
ning would never have put himself under an obli- 
gation to anyone; but it was for his model — for 
91 


92 


CALEB CLICKETT 


his invention, the beloved offspring of his brain; 
the fruit of thousands of toilsome hours and 
sleepless nights. And so he yielded, and when 
he returned to the works it was with two hundred 
and fifty dollars in his pocket, and the intention 
of asking for a short leave of absence that he 
might visit a particular establishment in New 
York, where he knew he could get just what he 
wanted to perfect his work and realize the ambi- 
tion of his life. 

Left to himself, Brian Hawkes limped to the 
couch in the inner room, where he lay smoking 
and thinking for an hour or two, evidently well 
pleased with himself, for every now and then he 
smiled in a satisfied way, as if he already saw 
some villainous scheme triumphant. 

Toward noon he left the Quiet Home, and 
strolled as if by chance toward Marshall Man- 
ning’s cottage. To his annoyance he saw nothing 
of Mildred or Elsie, and he did not deem it 
prudent to go so far as to call upon any such 
transparent excuse as he could devise. So here- 
turned to his temporary lodgings at Mrs. Cran- 
dall’s, first going to the engine and boiler 
works for a few minutes, and discovering, to his 
surprise and satisfaction, that Manning had al- 
ready obtained his leave of absence and gone 
away in a high state of jubilation. 

This was the last detail wanting to confirm 


THE H/HVK SIVOOPS 


93 


Hawkes in his plan, and he told himself that 
everything and everybody seemed disposed to 
play into his hands. 

There was only one drop of gall in his cup. 
He had caught sight of Eugene Embler at the 
works, and although it was but a momentary 
glimpse, it served to show him that the young 
foreman’s handsome face wore an expression of 
content, and more than content, which he could 
not understand. 

During the afternoon Hawkes rested, smoking 
and reading the newspapers; but as the long hand 
of the old-fashioned clock, which stood like a 
sentinel in one corner of the room, crept slowly 
round toward six o’clock, he rose, took up his 
hat, and went down toward the engine and boiler 
works. 

Ashe walked along, his mind was full of agi- 
tating and evil thoughts — disquietude on account 
of a celebrated detective whose name he had 
seen more than once in the newspapers he had 
been reading; fear of Eugene Embler and the in- 
formation which he might have of his ill-doings; 
gloating over the charms of Mildred Manning, 
coupled with a burning desire to thwart the man 
who had done him the service of saving his life; 
and, strongest and keenest of all, the feeling 
that he held in his hand the trump card, so far 
as Mildred Manning was concerned, in the shape 


94 


C/ILEB CLICKETT 


of indisputable proof of Eugene Embler’s mar- 
riage. 

On reaching the vicinity of the works, he 
stopped a moment, looked about him to see 
whether there were any signs of Mildred, but 
seeing none, he turned back, crossed Forbes ave- 
nue, and took his way down Townsend avenue 
toward the cottage. 

Half-way between the works and the cottage he 
met her, and by what he deemed one more stroke 
of luck, Elsie was not with her sister. Mildred 
herself, too, was not bound for the works, but 
was on her way to her aunt^s little hotel, and 
when Brian Hawkes addressed her with rather 
exaggerated politeness, she could find no reason- 
able excuse for refusing to stop and speak to him. 

With a preliminary flourish of compliments to 
herself, and assuming entire ignorance of Marshall 
Manning’s whereabouts, Brian Hawkes at once 
attacked the girl on her weakest side — her father 
— saying, with a ready lie, that he was on his way 
to ask him to show him the model of which he 
had heard. 

“But my father is not at home,” said Mildred. 

“Indeed? Well, I must call some other 
time,” answered Hawkes pleasantly enough. 

“I am sorry,” began Mildred; but her compan- 
ion interrupted her by saying, with a passionate 
look from his handsome dark eyes: 


THE HAIVK SJVOOPS 


95 


"There is notliing to be sorry about, Miss 
Manning. I have had the pleasure of meeting 
you again — the gre test pleasure I could have 
desired. " 

Mildred Manning blushed hotly, and stammered 
out: 

"You will excuse me if I hurry away, Mr. 
Hawkes; my aunt expects me." 

"Are you sure you mean your aunt? " said Hawkes 
rudely, a sudden fit of jealousy seizing him; for 
in his hot-headed way he was really infatuated 
with the beauty of this girl, whom he had only 
seen once before. 

"Mr. Hawkes! " cried Mildred indignantly. 

"Now, don’t be angry. I would not say a 
word to offend you, Miss Manning; but there, I 
suppose Pm a fool. No one has ever cared what 
I said or did, all my life long. Why should I 
think anyone would do so now?" and he sighed 
heavily. 

With her acute womanly sympathy, Mildred 
found it impossible not to feel a little sorry 
for this young man, so handsome and, as it 
seemed, so unhappy. 

Noticing a change in her mood, Brian Hawkes 
hastened to take advantage of it in his audacious 
way — all the more dangerous as it was skillfully 
made to bear the semblance of spontaneous, 
impulsive frankness. 


9G 


C^LEB CLICKETT 


‘Miss Manning, do you believe in love at first 
sight? ” 

Mildred started. They were now in a quiet 
spot, just off the main avenue, and she did not 
wish to discuss such a subject with a stranger 
under such conditions. 

“I — I know nothing about it,” she stammered 
out, making at the same time as though she would 
move awa}^ 

But he took no notice of that, and rejoined 
quickly: 

‘‘Love is a sealed book to you, then, so far? 
Ah! Miss Manning, so it is with me. All my 
life long I have never knowi> what it was to be 
loved, or to love,” he continued, lowering his 
voice, and speaking with passionate eagerness, 
‘‘until yesterday.” 

‘‘I don’t understand — I must go,” began Mil- 
dred confusedly, although she still felt a little 
sorry for this handsome stranger, who seemed so 
sad and lonely, and was still reluctant to do any- 
thing to hurt his feelings. In addition to which 
Mildred Manning was a woman, and what woman 
could be altogether angry with a man who so 
plainly admired her? She did not fear him 
yet. 

So she lingered a moment, and Hawkes took 
advantage of his opportunity, and with consider- 
able adroitness altered his tactics. With down- 


THE HAIVK SWOOPS 


97 


cast eyes and an air of penitent humility, as if 
he felt that he had gone too far, he said: 

"But I must not tell you now — anotner time. 
Your father is my friend, Miss Manning. I am 
deeply and honestly interested in what I have 
heard about his invention” — as a matter of fact, 
he did not know whether the great project was 
to result in a patent clothes-pin or a steam- 
engine — "and I am most anxious to see it." 

Then, with a sudden change of manner, he con- 
tinued: 

"But what does it matter? — what does any- 
thing matter to a man like me, without a friend 
in the world or an object in life?” 

Mildred’s tender heart was quickly touched, 
and the double reference to her father and to his 
own loneliness fairly got the better of her judg- 
ment. In all good faith she answered very gently: 

"You must not speak like that, Mr. Hawkes. 
It pains me.” 

With a hasty exclamation of delight, Brian 
Hawkes eagerly replied: 

"Oh, Miss Manning, how good you are! how 
kind to take any interest in a fellow like me! 
You little know what it is to me to feel that at 
last there is someone who cares. Oh, Mildred! 
you have given me a new life! you have given 
me an object in life; for — can you not see it? — I 
love you! 1 love you!” 

Caleb Clickett j 


98 


CALEB CLICKETT ' 


Mildred, terrified all at once by the situation 
into which her innocently meant sympathy had 
betrayed her, looked at her companion in dumb 
amazement, and would have left him; but he 
seized her hand, and continued in low, eager 
tones: 

“No, Mildred, hear me. Do not turn from me. 
You are the first woman whom I have ever loved; 
the first who has spoken kindly to me. Now, 
you must listen to me.” 

“I cannot, Mr. Hawkes; I cannot,” cried the 
girl, in low tones, as she at last realized her 
position, and in dread lest any of the workmen 
should come home that way; for at that mo- 
ment the five o’clock whistle vibrated on the 
air, setting them all at liberty. 

She was in an agony of mind, for if she should 
be seen with this man, what would be thought 
of her? What would Eugene Embler think? Al- 
though he had as yet spoken no words of love 
to her, she felt no words were needed. She 
knew his passion for her, and when she looked 
into her own heart and asked it if his love was 
returned, the answer sent the warm blood sweep- 
ing through her veins, coloring her face and 
throat. 

It was growing dark; already the distant hills 
grew blurred and dull in the on-coming haze, 
and shadows of the night. It was the hour of 


rilE HAl^K SIVOOPS 


99 


gloaming, the time for love and dalliance, and 
Brian Hawkes was in no mood to be denied. 

Could he but keep her a little while longer, he 
trusted to his persuasive tongue to win his way 
with this machinist's daughter, to whom — save 
the mark! he felt that he condescended in ad- 
miring her at all. 

He cast a swift glance around, and then drew 
her swiftly into the shadow of a neighboring 
hedge. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE HAWK COMES TO GRIEF A THREAT 

Mildred Mannrng gave a startled cry; but her 
companion kept her hand tightly in his, and be- 
gan to plead with all the force he could com- 
mand. 

O, “ Mildred, Mildred! do not blame me for 
loving you! I cannot help it. A man is not his 
own master in such things. Since yesterday I 
have thought of nothing but you. O, Mildred, 
Mildred, Mildred! the dear name has rung in 
my ears since I first heard it, yesterday. Yes- 
terday? it seems a year ago. Love me, dear; 
love me — as I love you.” 

"Let me go, sir! Let me go, Mr. Hawkes! 
You don't understand me. I am sorry for you, 
but — ” 

"Yes, I do; I understand you better than you 
understand yourself. You will let me come and 
see you? Let me walk home with you now, 
dear?” 

"Impossible, Mr. Hawkes;” and the girl made 
another effort to free herself. But the scoundrel 
held her hand tightly clasped in his own. 

100 


THE HAIVK COMES TO GRIEF 


101 


He knew that each moment as it passed in- 
creased the risk of discovery, and that therefore 
the chances of Mildred’s calling out or making 
any active resistance lo his importunities, grew 
less and less. 

His quick brain, rapidly fertile of ,evil things, 
took in all sides of the situation in a moment, 
and he smiled grimly in full enjoyment of the 
embarrassment which Mildred had brought upon 
herself by her good-hearted tolerance of his 
presence. 

As the steam-whistle shrieked out its dismis- 
sal of the workmen for the day, he could have 
shouted aloud in triumph. He could read Mil- 
dred’s true and modest nature like a book, and 
could realize, by mere contrast with his own de- 
light in the situation, the misery and shame 
which discovery would surely cast upon so sensi- 
tive a nature as that of his companion. 

So, for all answer, and smiling at the dumb 
pleading in her upturned .eyes, he seized her 
other hand and held her there, powerless to move 
and afraid to make a sound of protest, lest the 
very act which might bring help should prove 
her own undoing. 

Mildred Manning now began to be alarmed in 
gravest earnest. The evil passion of her compan- 
ion burned in his handsome eyes and quivered 
on his pleading tongue. 


102 


C/iLEB CLICKETT 


Scarcely above a whisper, Brian Hawkes re- 
sumed his unwelcome overtures. 

"Come, my darling, you can’t be angry with 
me. You don’t mind my loving you?" 

"Oh, yes — yes. You must not speak of love to 
me? Let me go, Mr. Hawkes. If you are a 
gentleman — if you are a man, let me go.” 

"Not until you have promised to think of me; 
not until you have promised that I shall have 
another opportunity of pleading my cause with 
you; not until you have given me some sign that 
you are not angry with me — that you forgive me 
if I have seemed too hasty in my love-making; " 
and he drew her closer to him, despite her efforts 
to regain her freedom. 

"Mr. Hawkes,” she panted, frightened more 
and more by his violent words, and still more 
lest she should be discovered, "Mr. Hawkes, let 
me go home now, and I will forgive you every- 
thing.” 

She struggled to free herself from his clasp, 
but he held her fast, and slipped one arm round 
her waist. 

"Mildred, Mildred! can’t you see how I love 
you? Can’t you be a little kind to me? Can’t 
you pity me, love me, just a little? Kiss me, 
dear,” and he bent forward till his face almost 
touched the girl’s. But she shrank from him, 
covering her face with her one disengaged hand. 


THE HAIVK COMES TO GRIEF 


103 


"How dare you! Let me go, sir! You will 
suffer for this! " she cried, scarcely above a whis- 
per, and ready to faint with mingled terror and 
shame. 

Her last words let loose the devil within him, 
and he almost hissed out the words as he retorted: 

"I know now what you mean. I know what all 
your mock modesty is worth. You want to keep 
your kisses for Eugene Embler, do you? Curse 
him! You are a fool. You are wasting your time. 
He can never marry you ; I can stop — ” 

But he said no more, for the girPs struggles 
grew more violent as her terror increased. 

"Let me go, sir! You have no right to speak 
his name. Let me go!" 

"Ha, ha! Let you go! I — " 

At that moment a man came rushing forward 
like the wind. There was a thud, a whirl, and 
with a gasp and a groan, Brian Hawkes fell 
heavily to the ground. 

Stunned for a moment by the heavy blow he 
. had received and the violence of the fall, the vil- 
lain lay upon the hard earth, dazed and silent. 
Then, pale as death, and with rage and hatred 
flaming in his dark eyes, he raised himself 
slowly, as if with pain, and stood before Eugene 
Embler, trembling with passion. 

"You blackguard ! how dare you assault me 
like this?" he hissed,' furiousl}^, clenching his 


104 


CALEB CLICKETT 


fists, but drawing no nearer to the man who stood 
quietly looking at him with indignation and con- 
tempt. 

“No low name-calling, Mr. Hawkes, if you 
please. And as for the blackguard, you needn’t 
go far to find him;'" and Eugene Embler’s honest 
eyes blazed with fierce anger as he thought of 
the insult to which this “gentleman” would have 
subjected the girl for whose lightest smile he 
would have been content to serve seven years, 
as Jacob did of old. 

“You impudent brute, you shall pay for this," 
continued Hawkes. 

But Embler interrupted him. 

“Once for all, Mr. Hawkes," he said, “if 
there’s a brute here — and a scoundrel to boot, for 
that matter— it is not I; and if you value your 
skin, you’ll just get out of this as fast as ever 
you can, without more foul words. My patience 
has its bounds.” 

"Your patience, indeed," retorted Brian 
Hawkes, with an attempt at a sneer. “And who 
are you, Mr. Eugene Embler, that patience 
should be considered — a common machinist?" 

“I saved your life but yesterday, and, besides 
that, I would rather not harm such a poor, miser- 
able creature, if I can help it. But you try me 
hard; you try me hard." 


THE HAM'^K COMES TO GRIEF 


105 


Mildred Manning laid her hand on Eugene^s 
arm, in gentle protest. 

He turned to her with a look of such reverence 
and devotion, that even Brian Hawkes flushed as 
he involuntarily contrasted it with his own un- 
. mannerly freedom. But the momentary fit of shame 
soon passed, leaving him more- bitterly inflamed 
against this man than ever, and with a resump- 
tion of his attempt at bravado, he blustered out: 

“I said that you should pay for this brutality, 
Eugene Embler — and you shall. You dare assault 
a gentleman — ’’ 

"Stay, sir," interrupted Embler, with dignity; 
"don't profane that good old word. A gentle- 
man should be gentle, true; should reverence 
women, not insult them; should protect them, 
not terrify them. Voti are no gentleman, Brian 
Hawkes — if that’s your name." 

"How dare you insult me, sir?" cried the man, 
half beside himself with impotent rage. 

"If the truth is an insult, so much the worse 
for those that make it so," answered Embler 
dryly. "Come away, Mildred; this is no scene for 
you. Let me see you safely to your door," and 
he moved a step or two in that direction, with 
.Mildred, white and trembling, by his side. 

But Brian Hawkes had no mind to let him go 
so easily, and, with a final outburst of fury, he 
cried: 


100 


C/ILEB CLICKETT 


“This is no affair of yours. By what right do 
you interfere, I would like to know?" 

Eugene Embler turned upon him like a lion. 
The fierce indignation and scathing contempt 
blazing in his gray eyes and written on every 
feature of his handsome face seemed to make the 
other "man visibly cower and shrink into insig- 
nificance as he stood there, his dark, sinister 
face distorted with devilish malice. 

“By the right of every honest man to protect 
an innocent girl against a villain!" came the an- 
swer in ringing tones. 

Brian Hawkes quailed before the other’s scorn, 
but he opened his trembling lips again, and 
would still have made some poor attempt to brave 
it out, but Embler silenced him by a gesture. 

“Not a word, sir. You have said more than 
enough already. Go! and thank your lucky stars 
that you got off with a whole skin. Not a word, 
sir — no! not a word," he continued, as the man 
made as if he would speak; and there was some- 
thing in his manner which told the other that he 
would do well to take the advice while he could. 

He turned to go, but when he had put a few 
paces between them he said, with a look of in- 
tense malice: 

“It’s your turn now, Eugene Embler. The day 
will come w'hen it will be mine!" and with this 
he limped away, sullen and scowling, his black 
heart aching with its longing for revenge. 


CHAPTER XIII 


BUCK LAWLESS REAPPEARS MILDRED SAYS “yES” 

THE MALIGNANT FACE 

Brian Hawkes had not gone far when he heard 
the sound of heavy footsteps behind him, and 
turned quickly, wondering whether Embler had 
followed him. 

But he saw only the figure of a gieat, ungainly, 
ugly-looking fellow of about forty years of age, 
with coarse tangled hair and a villainous leer upon 
his face. 

Brian Hawkes seemed to recognize him at the 
first glance, and then quickly remembered that 
he had seen him slouching along the road near the 
engine and boiler works, with something con- 
cealed under his coat, the night before. 

The man lurched along heavily, half drunk as 
usual, and Hawkes, who had no particular desire 
for another encounter, and had an idea that the 
fellow might mean to rob him, for it was now 
growing quite dark and the road was deserted, 
slackened his pace slightly, with a view to let- 
ting the man get in front of him. 

But to his surprise, and somewhat to his alarm, 
107 


]08 


CALEB CLICKETT 


as soon as the ruffian came up with him he halt- 
ed, and putting his hideous face, set in a frame 
of ragged dark hair, close to Hawkes’ pale one, 
muttered in the low, hoarse accents of a voice 
roughened by drink and exposed to all weathers: 

"I saw it all, guv’ner. ” 

Hawkes started as though the man had leveled 
a pistol at him. 

“What the deuce do you mean?" he stammered. 
“You saw it all? What did you see?” 

“I saw it all," repeated the ugly brute, with a 
chuckle, “and what^s more, guv^ner, I heard it 
all — and if that ain’t enough for you, it is for 
Buck Lawless." 

Brian Hawkes remained silent for a moment or 
two, thinking. His keen brain soon took in the 
pros and cons of the situation, and turning to 
the uncouth villain at his side, he said curtly: 

“Come with me." 

And the two men, a strangely assorted pair, 
walked away together, the living embodiment of 
that union of brute force, keen brain, and un- 
scrupulous malice which forms the most fatal 
combination against which an honest man can 
have to fight. 

In the meanwhile Eugene Embler and Mildred 
Manning had moved away in the direction of her 
father’s cottage, both agitated beyond measure, 
and both feeling instinctively, though one of them 


BUCK L/UVLESS REAPPEARS 


109 


scarcely liked to acknowledge it even to herself, 
that a crisis had come for them both; that the 
moment had arrived which might prove a turning- 
point in both their lives. 

For a few moments they walked side by side 
in silence. The minds and hearts of both were 
very full, and both seemed afraid to let them 
overflow in words. 

Ver}'^ soon, however, Eugene Embler broke the 
silence by saying quietly: “Pm glad I happened 
to be passing just in time to save you from that 
scoundrel. “ 

“I am glad too, and very, very grateful,” fal- 
tered M’ildred, thankful that the darkness had 
fallen, and that her companion could not see the 
Vivid blushes which mantled her face as she re- 
called the scene. “But don’t let us speak of it, I 
beg. I would like to forget it as soon as possible. ” 

“Yes, yes — that is best,” said Embler eagerly; 
then he added, in a lower tone, “but there is one 
thing I want to say to you, if I may.” 

He waited a moment as if for an answer, but 
none came; so he continued in low, earnest 
tones: 

“You remember that scoundrel asked me by 
what right I interfered?” 

“Yes,” answered Mildred softly. 

“I gave him such answer as sprang to my lips 
in the heat of the moment.” 


no 


CALEB CLICK ETT 


“And a noble answer, too,” said Mildred firmly. 

“It was the best — the only one I could give him, ” 
returned Embler. Then, speaking rapidly and 
eagerly, he continued: "YevS, it was the only one 
I could give him then. May I hope that if I 
should meet him again — which God forbid! — I 
may have some better answer to give him — some 
better right to give it?" 

Mildred Manning trembled with emotion as 
she listened to the rich, impassioned tones of 
her companion’s voice, in which truth, and love, 
and honor — all that holds women dear, and all 
that women themselves hold dear— rang with 
every word. 

A great happiness surged up in her heart, and 
she knew that only one answer was possible for 
her to give with truth. Yet her maidenly modesty 
shrank from revealing the secret of her heart at 
the first touch, so she remained silent awhile. 

Dreading lest by any unhappy blunder he had 
misread her, and that she was really indifferent to 
him, Eugene Embler could ill wait with any show 
of patience, and in a few moments he said, more 
earnestly than ever: 

“Forgive me if I have spoken too soon — if I 
have taken you by surprise. This wretched cur has 
forced me to tell you now what I should perhaps 
have kept in my own heart awhile. Yet, Mildred,” 
he continued, “it has been there long already; 


BUCK LAIVLE$S RETURNS 


111 


longer than you know — from the first moment that 
my eyes rested on your sweet face. O Mildred, 
tell me I have not harbored this love for you in 
vain. Tell me, dear, can you — will you — do you 
care for me just a little?” 

He waited for her answer in a silence full of in- 
tense emotion. All the barren wretchedness of the 
past years rose up before him, and then, stretching 
away, hidden, it is true, but in rosy clouds like 
those of a summer dawn, a vision of a happy 
future, full of peace and love. 

He had not long to wait, for Mildred Manning 
was no coquette. Her honest nature could not let 
her speak anything but the simple truth, and in 
quiet, firm accents she replied: 

“Not just a little, Eugene; I love you with all 
my heart.” 

The narrow road was empty but for themselves. 
They felt for the first time the crowning happiness 
of human-kind, and their lips met in the pure, 
sacred love of a true man for a good woman. 

Then for a little while they walked on in 
silence, happy in a happiness too perfect for words. 

But by and by, when they had nearly reached 
her home, Eugene Embler turned to Mildred and 
said gravely: 

"Mildred, my own dear wife to be, there is one 
thing I ought to tell you before I can claim you 
before the world.” 


112 


CALEB CLICKETT 


Mildred looked up at him in the moonlight, 
which was just beginning to cast a few pale rays 
upon them as they walked. A faint expression 
of surprise was on her face, but she only answered 
softly: 

“Well, dear, and what is that?” 

Eugene Embler answered her slowly and gravely, 
with a question; 

“Have you not wondered, Mildred, that I have 
waited so long to speak?” 

“O Eugene! ” 

“Well, dear, that is an odd way to put it, per- 
haps; but, Mildred, you must have s.een! ” 

“I did think that perhaps you — you gave me a 
thought now and then,” said the girl archly. 

“A thought? All my thoughts, dear. All my 
thoughts, all my hopes, all my aims, were for 
you; but, until yesterday, they were only tort- 
ure to me.” 

“But why, Eugene?” 

“Because I dared not speak to you.” 

Mildred laughed lightly. 

“Were you afraid? Was I so alarming, then?” 
she asked. 

“No, Mildred; it was not that. I could read 
your dear heart in your eyes. But for all that, 
I dared not speak." 

“Then why?” asked Mildred again, a vague fear 
falling upon her that, after all, something was 


BUCK LAWLESS RETURNS 


113 


going to rob her of this new-found happiness. 

“There was something in my past life — some- 
thing which, whenever I approached you, held 
me back,” said Eugene Embler gravely. 

Mildred started. A sudden terror took posses- 
sion of her, and almost involuntarily she stam- 
mered out: 

“He said there was something — he said you 
could not marry me.” 

“He? Who, in God’s name?” cried Eugene. 

“Mr. Hawkes. ” 

“Mr. Hawkes! ” echoed her companion, almost 
breathless with amazement. “What could he 
know? How could he know? And yet — ” 

He paused, for all at once there flashed across 
his mind the fact that when he had first seen 
Brian Hawkes he had seemed to recognize his 
face. Since then he had dismissed the notion 
as an impossible fancy, but now it recurred to 
him with tenfold force, yet he could not say 
for certain why the face seemed familiar. 

But the evident pain in Mildred’s tone made 
him hasten to at least set her mind at rest. 
With rapid, earnest utterance, he resumed: 

“Yes, Mildred, there was a reason why I dared 
not speak, but that is all over now. True, that 
even now I had not meant to speak to you, had 
not that villain’s conduct forced me to try and 
win the greatest right a man can have to protect 

aUb Clickett 8 


114 


C/tLEB CLICKETT 


the woman he loves. There were things I would 
have done, statements I would have verified — 
though there is no doubt of their truth — and I 
would have spoken to your father first; but this 
man came between us — more than that, he gave 
me at least some right to guard you, as your 
father was not by. And then — O Mildred, Mil- 
dred! — can you blame me if I spoke?" 

‘T do not blame you, Eugene," she answered 
gently, "and I do not want to know anything 
that it would give you pain to tell me. I can 
trust you, dear." 

"How good you are to me, Mildred! But lwt7/ 
tell you. The sorrow and the shame have passed 
away, and I can speak." 

"The sorrow — and the shame?" echoed Mil- 
dred slowly, doubting if she had heard aright. 

"The sorrow, dear, was mine; perhaps more 
than the shame. But she is dead, and I have no 
wish to speak ill of her beyond what the bare 
truth requires." 

"Of herr 

, "Yes, Mildred — of my dead wife!" 

"Of — your — dead — wife?" repeated Mildred me- 
chanically. 

She did not understand. It seemed to her 
now as if there had been some truth in what 
Hawkes had said to her; as if there had been 
some ground for his cruel taunt, 


BUCK LAIVLESS RETURNS 


115 


"It is true, Mildred. But, dear, you need not 
mind my speaking of her. She is dead — and 
it is better that you should know the truth. You 
would not wish me, dear, to take you as my 
wife, in the sight of God and man, with a lie 
upon my lips?” 

"Oh, no, no! Tell me, Eugene. It is best that 
I should know.” 

They had come to a stand now, and were in 
the shadow of an old elm, which overhung the 
roadway. They had raised their voices, too, in the 
excitement of the moment, and had not noticed 
the soft sound of a footstep on the grass which 
lay beyond the stone wall and hedge, nor did 
they see an evil face which peered out at them 
cautiously from behind the shelter of a great 
tree-trunk — a dark, malignant face, set in a frame 
of ragged, coarse hair. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE SHADOW ON THE LOVERS’ PATH ONE OF DE- 

TECTIVE clickett’s black sheep 

III all the confidence bred of solitude, the lov- 
ers spoke from heart to heart, Eugene Embler 
answering the beautiful girl first with a kiss, as 
if, dreading even the faintest possibility of his 
coming revelation raising a barrier between 
them, he would at least have the memory of her 
love to cherish forever more. 

"It is not a very uncommon stor}^, Mildred, and 
I will tell it to you as briefly as possible. It is 
the old tale, dear, of a stupid young fellow and 
a designing woman^of a boy’s blind folly and 
its fatal ending. It was in New York that I met 
Ida Ingham. I was a foolish young fellow, and 
friendless — no one to guide me, no one to warn, 
no home-life worthy of the name, to keep me out 
of danger.” 

Mildred put her hand in his, and murmured 
very softly: 

"Poor boy! ” 

Encouraged by her gentle words, he bent, and 
116 


THE SHADOIV ON THE LONERS' PATH 


117 


kissed her again; then, in frank and simple lan- 
guage, told her the story of his life. 

She listened in silence, full of sympathy for 
him, and not without a touch of sorrow, too, for 
the unhappy woman who, in her ignorance of the 
treasure she was losing, had thrown away the 
love of such a man. 

Another listened too, though they knew it not 
— listened with ears as eager as her own — and 
chuckled grimly from time to time, as he crouched 
down in the shadow and drank in Eugene 
Embler’s confession as it came word by word 
from his honest lips. And as he listened his 
vile nature reveled in the prospect of making 
use and profit in the future of all that he was 
learning. 

And over them all the full moon sailed, pure and 
radiant as a maiden’s soul. The meadow-land 
on the one hand, and the broad harbor on the 
other, lay ghostly gray in the silvery light; the 
great hill, surmounted by the ruins of old Fort 
Wooster, which, though silent, spoke eloquently 
of Revolutionary days, towered seemingly to the 
sky, touched into beauty by the tender light; and 
far away as eye could reach, the wide sweep of 
waters of the bay and sound lay at rest like a 
shield of burnished metal. 

Nature was at its loveliest while these two 
plighted their faith and opened their hearts to 


' 118 


CALEB CLICKETT 


each other with all the fullness of new-born 
love and trust. Yet, amid these fairest scenes, 
fierce forces were at work, and even here, under 
the majestic shadow of a triumph of civilization, 
lay seething some of the basest, grossest passions 
of humanity. 

Presently, with a gentle sigh as if she were 
loath to prolong this first hour of their new- 
found happiness, Mildred said: 

“Elsie will think, I am lost, dear. I must go 
home now.’’ 

“To-morrow, Mildred, I shall speak to your 
father. I shall ask him to spare me his treasure 
to be my own.” 

“And if he says ‘No?’” 

“I do not think he will. If he does — well, 
dear, you must make him say ‘Yes’ instead." 

Mildred laughed softly; then, with a sudden 
sharp accent of fear in her voice, she said hur- 
riedly : 

“But to-morrow I may be afraid to go out. 
Suppose I met — ” 

“Brian Hawkes?” said Embler, in hard, stern 
tones. 

There was a sudden movement in the deep 
shadow behind the tree, as a figure leaned for- 
ward to catch the words that were to follow. 

“Yes, dear.” 

“You need not be afraid. The man is sure to 


THE SHADOJV ON THE LOVERS' PATH 11 0 

be a coward, as bullies always are, and I don’t 
think he will trouble you again.” 

"But if — ” 

"If he does? By the heavens above us, he shall 
have reason to regret it to the latest day of his 
life,” cried Embler fiercely. 

Then, seeing that she looked frightened at his 
stern words, he continued, more gently: 

“But there, dear, you need not be afraid of 
anything of the kind. Brian Hawkes has had 
one lesson, and I don’t think he will be in a hurry 
for a second. No, Mildred, think no more of 
him — the scoundrel isn’t worth it. He will 
be gone soon, no doubt. In the meantime, I 
think he has respect enough for his wretched 
carcass not to put it at my mercy again. I let 
him off easy this time, and he knows it; but if I 
had to deal with him again, upon my word, 
dear,” and Eugene Embler laughed aloud in his 
new-found confidence and happiness, "I’m afraid 
what there was left of him would hardly be worth 
taking back to the city.” 

Then bending over her and lifting her face to 
his, he said in an earnest, ardent whisper: 

"Think no more of him, dear. Let us forget 
the past and all that it held. It is dead; let it 
rest. The future is for us, Mildred, and in it I 
can see naught but happiness and love.” 

And they moved away slowly, rich in their 


!20 


CALEB CLICKETT 


mutual love, willing to forget the past, happiest 
of the happy in the present, full of hope and 
confidence in the future. 

Yet all the time, though they knew not of 
it, a dark figure slunk beside them, out of 
sight, dogging their footsteps — a black and hide- 
ous blot on the fair scene, like the shadow of 
impending doom. 

And the dark figure followed them to the very 
door of the Manning cottage, and lingered there 
till the last good-nights were exchanged, and 
then, as Eugene started homeward, it followed 
on his track. 

Meantime, while Mildred, full of her new- 
born happiness, was imparting to her sister, 
under a solemn promise of secrecy — for Eugene 
had, after some consideration, decided that it 
would be better not to speak to her father until 
the news which brought him his longed-for free- 
dom was confirmed — the fact that the young 
foreman had asked her to be his wife; and while 
Embler himself was making his way to his 
boarding-house, on Hamilton street, with his 
brain in a whirl of joyous excitement, a ver}^ 
different scene was being enacted in Mrs. Cran- 
dall’s Quiet Home. 

That worthy woman had been considerably 
and very naturally surprised to find, on her re- 
turn from a little business expedition to the 


THE SHADOIV ON THE LOVERS' PATH ] ?! 

city, her unwelcome guest, Brian Hawkes', lyiiig 
upon the lounge in the private sitting-room, and 
hy him, in an arm-chair, quite at his ease, and 
talking in low, confidential tones, the dangerous 
ruffian whose mere presence, in her opinion, 
polluted her house. 

Mrs. Charity Crandall made no pretense of 
being either more or less of a woman than tl^e 
majority, and this state of things naturally 
stimulated her curiosity beyond the endurance of 
even the least inquisitive of her sex. 

She decided, after a brief debate with herself, 
that it was her plain duty to learn, if possible, 
whether this meeting between a man of whom 
she had formed a very bad opinion, and one 
whom she . already knew to be an unscrupulous 
ruffian, capable of any villainy, was innocent in 
its object, or, being the reverse, what rascality 
it had for its particular end. 

It happened that the bar-room and public par- 
lor were just then free of guests, so that there 
was absolutely nothing to divert Mrs. Cran- 
dall’s attention, and at last, irritated beyond 
bearing by the dull, unintelligible muttering 
which reached her tantalized ears, she opened 
the door for the second time, and addressing 
Brian Hawkes in not too friendly tones, said: 

"I see you’re engaged, sir, but I thought I’d 
just ask if you’re feeling as well to-night,” 


122 


CALEB CLICKETT 


and she looked hard at him as she spoke, and 
then glared resentfully at Buck Lawless. 

“Yes, yes; Pm all right — don’t you bother 
about me. Pll call you if I want you,” an- 
swered Brian Hawkes brusquely. 

Buck Lawless had turned at the sound of the 
widow’s voice, and sat staring at her in a heavy, 
half-dazed fashion, for he was, as usual, rather 
the worse for liquor, and his sodden wits worked 
slowly. 

“H’m; very well, sir,” returned Mrs. Crandall, 
bridling up. “I thought maybe, you might have 
been taken worse, and had asked Buck Lawless 
to nurse you, for I cannot think what- else you 
could want of him; but if that’s not the case, I 
beg your pardon for interrupting you, and I 
would just like to say that the bar-room is 
empty, and the sooner Buck Lawless is in it, 
and out of it too, for that matter, the better 
I shall be pleased.” 

“All right; don’t worry about what doesn’t 
concern you. He’ll come when Pm done with 
him, and not before. Now, just let us alone, if 
you please, Mrs. Crandall — that’s a good old 
soul. We will call you if we want anything." 

“ WCf indeed, sir! Do you think Pm coming 
at the beck and call of Buck Lawless?” answered 
the widow. “Pd have you know that my private 
rooms are not for the like of him; and as for 


THE SHADOIV ON THE LONERS' P^TH 


123 


you, sir — well, I know this same Buck Lawless 
as well, in fact, as though Pd gone through him 
with a lighted candle — one of the blackest of 
Detective Clickett’s black sheep, and I wish you 
joy of your company;” and with a look of con- 
temptuous indignation, which included both the 
rnen in its rapid glance, she left the room in 
her most stately manner; and taking up her knit- 
ting-needles, rattled them together over her work 
as fiercely as if they were the heads of the two 
men in the adjoining room. 

It was evident, though, that Mrs. Crandall 
was ill at ease, and in a minute or so a thought 
seemed to strike her, calling up a gleam of sat- 
isfaction in her eyes and a shrewd smile to her 
lips; and directing her young waiting-maid to 
attend to anyone who might happen to drop in, 
the widow laid her knitting aside and betook 
herself to the reaj: of the house. 


CHAPTER XV 


AT THE STORE-ROOM WINDOW — NOTICE TO QUIT 

In the back part of the Quiet Home, between 
the kitchen and the room in which Brian Hawkes 
and his disreputable companion were conversing, 
was a long, narrow store-room. It was an apart- 
ment that was kept carefully Locked, and as of 
late years it had been under the charge of the 
cook, Mrs. Crandall had well-nigh forgotten its 
existence. But now the recollection of it came 
like an inspiration. 

Without more ado the widow made her way to 
this store-room, and cautiously opening a little 
square window in it v/hich communicated with 
the room where Brian Hawkes and Buck Lawless 
were seated, she could hear all that they had to 
say. 

“A sour old harridan, poking and prying 
about," were the first words that reached her at- 
tentive ear. 

She quickly recognized the speaker as Hawkes, 
and listened with righteous wrath and boiling 
blood as he sneeringly added: 

"What the deuce was it to her, anyhow, if I 
124 


AT THE STORE-ROOM IVINDOIV 


125 


chose to have a talk with you here, eh, Buck, my 
boy? ’’ 

"A sour old harridan, am I?” she said to her- 
self. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Brian 
Hawkes. Calling bad names breaks no bones, 
but I’ll not forget your foul words, as you shall 
find out to your cost, one of these days, or my 
name’s not Charity Crandall.” 

“A sour old harridan! So she is, guv’ner; so 
she is,” growled his companion, with a drunken 
chuckle. “I ain’t good enough for her private 
rooms, ain’t I? Well, we’ll see about that, we 
will.” 

“Ah! by the way, she said you were one of De- 
tective Clickett’s black sheep; is that so? Does 
he keep you under regular surveillance?” 

“Not as I know on — not ’specially, I reckon. 
You see, guv’ner, I got into a leetle trouble with 
him through borrowin’ the duds an’ fixin’s- of a 
dead man I found on th’ road. You see, I thought, 
bein’ dead, he’d have no further use for ’em, but 
I was mistaken — a victim o’ misplaced confi- 
dence, that’s what I was.” 

“And so the dead man had further use for his 
clothes and fixings, did he?” 

“Well, leastwise, his friends did. They 
kicked up an awful row, an’ it ended in land- 
ing me behind th’ bars. An’, t’ tell th’ plain 
truth, guv’ner. I’ve only jest got out, an’ I 


126 


CALEB CLICKETT 


wouldn’t be here t’ night if t’wa’n’t for th^ time 
they knocked off on account o’ good behavior, you 
understand. " 

“I see; but to return to this peppery old 
woman — ” 

“Ah, yes, confound her! She thinks herself so 
much better than other folks. Why, Pm dead 
certain she receives smuggled goods — ’specially 
liquors — from th’ masters an’ mates o’ vessels 
that come into this port, an’ Pve a good mind t’ 
blow th’ gaff on her. Wonder how she’d like her 
little crib shut up, an’ herself sent to cool her 
heels in jail for a few weeks." 

"One thing at a time — one thing at a time, my 
impetuous friend,” answered Hawkes quietly. 
"You can play your own little game a week or a 
month hence. Pm no spoil-sport, and I won’t 
stand in your way. But you must play mine 
first. 

"O’ course, guv’ner. When a man A a man, 
an’ pays like a man, why I says that th’ least 
another man can do is to treat him fair an’ 
square. An’ if you’re fair an’ square with Buck 
Lawless, you’ll find Buck Lawless fair an’ square 
'with you." 

"I don’t doubt it," returned Hawkes, a little 
roughly; "but we needn’t go into that now. All 
I care about, all I want to know is, do you want 
to earn a hundred dollars?" 


y4T THE STORE-ROOM IVINDOM^ 


127 


"Do I? Don’t I? Don’t I look like th’ sort o’ 
man as alters wants t’ turn an honest penny?" 
answered the villain, with another chuckle. 

The good widow’s curiosity was now raised to 
fever heat, and she scarcely trusted herself to 
breathe as she stood on tip-toe on a chair, 
drinking in every word, and confident she was * 
about to overhear the detailed arrangements of 
some underhand plot. 

Hawkes replied quickly: 

"It isn’t only a question of whether you do^ 
you know. Buck; it’s also whether you can." 

“Can? I should just like to see the job I 
couldn’t do for a hundred dollars.” 

"Well, then, listen to me; there must be no 
half measures.” * 

"Don’t believe in ’em, you bet,” growled tl 
villain. 

"That’s all right,” Hawkes answered. "I hate 
him, and I mean to pay him in full; in full — 
do you understand?” 

"Aye, I understand, guv’ner; an’ you’ve come to 
th’ right man to do it. I ain’t one o’ your deli- 
cate, kid-gloved squeamishers, ” continued the 
rascal huskily, “an’ I ain’t particular fond o’ him 
myself. ” 

"The deuce you’re not! ” 

"No. Is it likely I should be? What am I? 
Who am I ? Buck Lawless— Shady Buck— a thief. 


138 


CALEB CLICKETT 


a tramp, and a drunken brute,” burst out the 
wretch suddenly, with a touch of tragic fierceness 
in his self-scorn which might have made some 
men feel a passing pang of pity even for him; 
“and he’s — ” 

At this moment, critical to a degree, to Mrs. 
Crandall’s unspeakable vexation, the shrill voice 
of Til lie, the waiting-maid whom she had left in 
charge in front, was heard calling her; and lest 
the girl’s ill-timed zeal should alarm others, she 
was compelled to leave her point of vantage, not 
only to answer Tillie’s question, but also to warn 
her, with an air of mystery, not to come scream- 
ing after her again. 

Returning to the store-room as- speedily as 
possible, Mrs. Crandall pushed open the window 
again very gently. To her vexation she discovered 
that one of the two men in the private room 
must have opened the side-window, for the rush 
of cold air was terrific, and the little sash would 
have closed with a slam, betrayed her position, 
and robbed her of her only chance of learning 
what deviltry was brewing, had she not fortunately 
for a moment retained her hold upon the window- 
frame. But Charity Crandall was not the woman to 
be easily diverted from any object upon which 
she had set her mind, and despite her forebodings 
of days of toothache in store for herself, she 
kept the little window open. 


AT THE STORE-ROOM IVINDOIV 


129 


All that she could make out, however, was that 
Brian Hawkes and Buck Lawless were conspiring 
together against some person whose name she did 
not hear mentioned, but of whose identity she 
had no doubt. The dreadful word “murder” 
reached her ear once or twice. 

“Come, pull yourself together. Lawless,” she 
heard Hawkes say, in a sharp, imperious tone. 
“You’ll have to keep off the drink awhile if you’re 
going to carry out this job properly." 

“I shall be all right, guv’ner. It isn’t every 
day a fellow has th’ chance of such a skin-tightener 
as this at another man’s expense Your good 
health, guv’ner;” and with drunken poljteness he 
staggered to his feet, holding his glass aloft as 
he hiccoughed out his toast. 

But this final effort to sacrifice to the social 
graces was too much for him. He stumbled, and 
clutching at the table to save his clumsy car- 
cass, knocked it over with a crash. 

One man’s misfortune is ever another’s oppor- 
tunity, and no one could deny that the noise was 
quite sufficiently alarming to justify Mrs. Cran- 
dall — who was itching for an excuse to break up 
the unhallowed conference — in entering the room, 
which she promptly did, without waiting for the 
formality of being called, or even of knocking, 
as she anticipated the possibility of thus catch- 
ing the enemy unawares. 

Caleb Clickett 9 


130 


CALEB CLICKETT 


T 


With an air of great anxiety and alarxn, she 
made her way into the room. 

“Heavens above us, sir! what’s the matter?’’ 
she cried, addressing herself to her guest. 

“Nothing, Mrs. Crandall, nothing,” answered 
Hawkes, coolly replacing the table on its legs 
as he spoke. 

“It’s the first time I ever heard of nothing mak- 
ing such a noise in the world, though I know 
nobodies who have done it," responded the old 
woman dryly. “Do you call that nothing?” she 
continued, pointing, as she spoke, to where Buck 
Lawless leaned against the end of the lounge, 
staring at her with drunken impudence. 

“Nothing — to you, at any rate,” retorted Brian 
Hawkes brusquely, with the intention of making 
the widow understand that in the present in- 
stance two were company and three none, and 
that her presence would willingly be dispensed 
with. 

“Indeed! and I differ with you there, Mr. 
Hawkes. If it isn’t my business who comes into 
my house, to say nothing of playing the evil 
one’ s own diversions with my furniture, I’ d like to 
know who’s it is?” 

“The police, may be, if they did their duty,” 
answered Hawkes with a sneer; but before the 
words were well out of his mouth he saw that he 
had blundered. 


AT THE STORE-ROOM IVINDOIV 131 

The police, is it? Do you talk to me about 
the police? I should like to know which of us 
three would face the police — or say the detective, 
Caleb Clickett— with the best heart, if it came 
to that; and Mrs. Charity Crandall challenged 
the two men with a look. 

The shot was made at a venture, but it went 
straight home. Buck Lav/less lurched down 
into a seat, and growled out: 

“It — iVs all right, widow; who wants to talk 
about the police or that devil Clickett, 
either?” 

But Brian Hawkes grew pale to the very lips, 
and it was with a shaking voice that he an- 
swered: 

"You’re too free with your tongue, Mrs. Cran- 
dall. Let us alone, and go about your business. 
This is my room while I pay for it, and Til 
thank you to get out of it.” 

But Mrs. Crandall’s patience was at last com- 
pletely worn out. With’ indignation blazing in 
her eyes, she retorted : 

"Do you think I’d keep you here for the few 
dimes Fd make out of you, after what’s passed? 
Out you go, Mr. Brian Hawkes, . this very night. 
Maybe Shady Buck Lawless can put you up at a 
pinch, as you don’t seem over particular. I’ll 
have no friend of his under my roof, and wouldn’t 
if he paid me ten dollars a day for the accommo- 


132 


CALEB CLICKETT 


elation. Now then, settle up, and away with 
you! ” 

Brian Hawkes listened to the excited woman’s 
words with a look of incredulous astonishment 
and consternation. 












CHAPTER XVI 


LAWLESS AND HAWKES RETIRE FROM THE FIELD — THE 
WIDOW SORELY PERPLEXED 

For fully a minute the widow waited for some 
sign on the part of her unwelcome guest to in- 
dicate that he would obey her vigorously ex- 
pressed order; but as he made no motion to 
leave, she at length impatiently exclaimed: 

"Come! don’t keep me standing here all night. 
Pay me what you owe me, and be gone! " 

"Don’t be a fool, woman," returned Hawkes 
angrily. 

"You may just keep your ‘fools’ and your 
‘woman’ till you get back to the city, or wher- 
ever you came from, Mr. Hawkes. They won’t 
get stale by the way, for out you go within the 
next ten minutes, or I’ll know the reason why.” 

Buck Lawless sat stupidly staring while the 
widow stormed. This little incident, unpleas- 
ant as it might be to Brian Hawkes, possessed 
no terror and very little interest for him; and 
it was only his companion’s keen, sharp note of 
anger that roused him from his indifference. 

133 


134 


C/ILEB CLICKETT 


“To-night? Do you mean it? Do you really 
want me to get out to-night?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered the widow, calmly but 
firmly, “I do. And why not? You’ve got no 
baggage; and if you had. I’d send it after you 
with the greatest of pleasure, you may be sure.” 

“But—” 

“There’s no use in wasting breath, sir. My 
mind is made up. A man is known by his 
friends, by the company he keeps, and no friend 
of Buck Lawless sleeps under my roof, even 
though he paid like a prince. Out you go, sir, 
this very night; and the sooner you start the 
better for you and for me.” 

“Oh ! you go to the — ” 

“No, sir — no, sir; thank you kindly. I have 
no wish to set eyes on you again. You can go 
where you please, and I dare say you’ll find 
yourself there all in good time; but for me — 
why. I’ll just stop right where I am.” 

Hawkes was considerably taken back by this 
emphatic action on the part of Mrs. Crandall. 
With the ever-present suspicion which is the 
twin-brother of an evil conscience, he won- 
dered what and how much this woman knew. 

He had not, of course, the faintest idea that 
any part of his conversation with Buck Lawless 
had been overheard, but yet he could not in any 
reasonable way account for the widow’s sudden 


LAIVLESS AND HAJVKES RETIRE 


135 


determination to get rid of him in such uncere- 
monious fashion upon the mere ground of his 
association with the brutal villain who made 
him savagely angry by sitting in stupid silence, 
blinking foolishly at first one and then the other. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Crandall stood resolutely to 
her guns, waiting, clearly enough, for Brian 
Hawkes to take his departure. 

After a' few moments, as neither of the men 
moved, she quietly said: 

“Well, Pm about tired of waiting. Now, 
Buck Lawless, just take yourself out of my 
house, and darken its door again at your peril.” 

The miserable fellow seemed to be sober 
enough still to be able to read Mrs. CrandalPs 
steadfast purpose in her voice, and to think 
twice before setting her at defiance; and with a 
sheepish look at his companion and a drunken 
chuckle, as if he, too, would fain try and pass the 
whole thing off as a joke, he slouched out cf 
the room and the house.^ 

Brian Hawkes watched him in silent amaze- 
ment; then, turning to Mrs. Crandall, he said 
roughly: 

“Upon my soul, madam, you carry things with 
a high hand for a third-rate hotel-keeper.” 

“Carry things with a high hand, eh? Well, I can 
do that if need be, and I can carry my head high, 
too — hotel or no hotel. I can look the world in 


13G 


CALEB CLICKETT 


the face with no greater crime on my soul than 
taking a fair price for an honest meal, Mr. Hawkes, 
and it would be well if all of us could dp the same. ” 
“What do you mean, you — ” 

“Now, Mr. Hawkes, Pve put up with more from 
you already than a decent, self-respecting woman 
should, and I’d just advise you to keep a civil 
tongue in your head. Remember, if you please, 
you’re not talking to your friend Buck Lawless,” 
and there was more than a tinge of contempt in 
her tones as she uttered the words. 

‘Wy friend Buck Lawless! Why, madam, you’re 
mad. I can’t talk to a man about an engine and 
a steam yacht but you must put him down as my 
friend. You’re an idiot, no more nor less." 

“Well, I’ve heard it said that we’re all mad 
on some point or other," answered Mrs. Crandall 
dryly; “but I’m not such an idiot as to believe 
all I’m told even by a gentleman like you. I 
should have thought that if you wanted informa- 
tion about engines and steam yachts you might 
have sought it in decent quarters — Marshall Man- 
ning, for instance, or Eugene Embler. " 

As she mentioned Embler’ s name Mrs. Crandall 
looked keenly at her companion, and he changed 
color as he stammered out: 

“Eugene Embler? You seem to think of no one 
about here but Eugene Embler. What is he to 
me? I shall seek my information where I choose. " 


LAWLESS AhID HAWKES RETIRE 


137 


“Of course you will, sir,” returned the widow 
dryly, for she was quite cool again now that she 
felt herself master of the situation ; “and I’m sure 
it must be a real pleasure to a getitleinan to have 
the opportunity of making the acquaintance of 
Detective Clickett’s black sheep, Shady Buck.” 

“Devil take Shady Buck!” 

“I’ve no objection, sir; not that I would wish 
even him any more harm than his evil ways are 
sure to bring him before he’s done. He’s a bad 
lot, that same Buck Lawless, and if he doesn’t 
end his days in prison, or at the end of a rope, 
he’ll be lucky.” 

“What do you mean, woman? ” retorted Hawkes 
hastily, his fear of what she might know or even 
guess suddenly springing into new life again at 
her words. 

“Why, I declare! anyone would think that 
Buck Lawless was your brother born from the 
interest you take in him, sir. Well, everyone to 
his taste, but I should, wait until every other 
man on the face of the earth was gone before / 
made a friend of Buck Lawless.” Then she added 
quietly: “But time’s getting on, sir, and you’ll 
not want to walk to the center of the city to night, 
I take it?" 

With an ugly scowl, Brian Hawkes answered 
in angry tones: 

“Do you mean it then? Do you want me to go?” 


138 


CALEB CLICKETT 


“You may be sure I do — and I me you sharl 
go, too. There’ s not room, I tell you, in this house 
for me and a friend of Buck Lawless. I shouldn’t 
sleep at night for fear I should wake up in 
the morning and find myself with my throat 
cut.” 

“Take what I owe you,” answered Hawkes with 
a sullen scowl, throwing a ten-dollar gold-piece on 
the table and rising from his seat without more 
ado. “How soon is there another horse-car to the 
city?” 

“They run every twelve minutes till half-past 
ten. You can catch the last one easy enough, and 
with time to spare.” 

“Give me my change and let me go,” returned 
the man roughly. 

“With all the pleasure in life, Mr. Hawkes,” 
answered the widow, and bustling out of the room, 
she soon returned with a bank-note and some 
silver, which, Hawkes thrust into his pocket with- 
out a word. 

Before leaving, however, he determined to make 
one more effort to find out what, if anything, 
this woman knew or suspected; so while he drew 
on his overcoat he remarked, with an air of as- 
sumed carelessness: 

“I dare say I shall be this way again soon, to 
visit the engine and boiler works and see the steam 
yacht — ” 


LAIVLESS ^ND HAIVKES RETIRE 


139 


“And your friend Buck Lawless?” interrupted 
Mrs. Crandall. 

A quick frown made the dark eyebrows of the 
man meet in one heavy line across his angry face 
as he answered in low, hoarse tones: 

“I see you’re no better than a fool, like the 
rest of your sex. You seem inclined to make a 
confounded lot out of my having had a little talk 
with that man.” 

“No, sir; /shall not make as much out of it as 
he will, I dare say,” she retorted. 

“I don’t understand what you mean,” returned 
Hawkes, in a tone in which fear and anger were 
plainly mingled. 

“My goodness!” exclaimed Mrs. Crandall; “you 
needn’t fret yourself so, sir. I only meant that 
of course Shady Buck would be proud of his new 
friend, and might get to talking and making 
much of it when he’s full. And who could 
blame him? for it’s not many, even of his old 
mates, who would care to be seen with a drunken 
villain like him, who, as you must know, is even 
mean enough to rob the dead; much less would 
they be caught hob-nobbing with him over a glass 
of liquor, like loving brothers.” 

Hawkes made an attempt to laugh, but the 
ghastly merriment died on his pale lips. 

He felt sure now that Mrs. Crandall suspected 
something, even if she actually knew nothing. 


140 


CALEB CLICKETT 


He was sure that she meant more than she said, 
and that the innocent interpretation which she 
had given to her own words was really only as- 
sumed to blind him and put him off the scent. 

Yet the wary Hawkes did not see his way clear 
at the moment to question her any further, without 
running the risk of betraying himself ; and so, 
without more ado, he thought he would make 
the best of things and treat the whole affair as 
lightly as he could. 

So he took up his hat, and with outstretched 
hand advanced^ to the widow, saying, with an 
air of “let by-gones be by-gones: ” 

“Well, I must not stand chattering here, or I 
shall miss the car. Good-bye." 

But, somehow or other, Mrs. Charity Crandall 
did not seem to see his hand, and with her own 
tucked carefully under her white apron, she an- 
swered him curtly: 

“Good-night, sir." 

And Brian Hawkes, scowling and sullen, went 
away along the road leading across the bridge, 
where he expected to find a car waiting. But he 
had not gone more than a dozen paces when he 
heard the widow’s voice calling after him. 

He stopped and turned, wondering what was to 
come next. 

“Will you leave me your address, sir?" she 
called out. 


LAIVLESS AND HAIVKES RETIRE 


141 


"No; you won’t want it," he answered back. 

“But your friend Buck Lawless may," was the 
retort. 

"Oh, confound Buck Lawless! " came the sav- 
age answer; and then he strode off into the dark- 
ness, joined a few paces further on by Lawless 
himself, who accompanied his newly found friend 
to the horse-car terminus, and then left him and 
staggered home, chuckling and telling himself 
that he had done a good night’s work. 

Hawkes reached the Elliott House with a mind 
ill at ease, full of black and bitter thoughts, and 
dreaming of dire things to come erelong, which 
should satisfy at once his passion and his hate. 

And good Mrs. Crandall? Well, that worthy 
woman slept but little that night. She had 
heard something of the devilish plot on hand, 
but not enough — something which set every fiber 
in her body tingling with indignation and ap- 
prehension; and yet not enough, she feared, to 
justify her in taking it upon herself to put the 
law in motion against the pair of scoundrels. 
Never was woman more sorely perplexed. 

All night long the cruel word "murder" rang 
in her ears, and in her brief snatches of fitful 
sleep she was haunted by the hideous presence 
of Buck Lawless, the hissing tones of Brian 
Hawkes, and the dream-enacted horror of awful 
crimes of treachery and violence. 


142 


CALEB CLICKETT 


The one thing clear to her was that some vile 
and brutal act of vengeance, though she could 
not tell for what, was being planned, and she 
did not wait long to decide against whom the 
plot was thickening. 

Yet, should she speak? Should she send for 
Detective Caleb Clickett, and tell him all she 
knew? or should she for the moment wait and 
watch, get clearer evidence and further proof, 
before launching so terrible a charge against 
even men whom she hated and despised as she 
did Buck Lawless and Brian Hawkes? 

When daylight came her resolve was taken, 
and all she waited for was the opportunity, 
which must come soon or must be made. 


CHAPTER XVII 


EUGENE AND MILDRED — MARSHALL MANNING’S RETURN 

A week had elapsed since Brian Hawkes had 
received his abrupt dismissal at the hands of 
Mrs. Charity Crandall, and Eugene Embler had 
spoken out of the fullness of his heart to the 
girl whom he had so long loved in secret. It 
had been a week of unalloyed happiness for Mil- 
dred Manning and her lover — a week so full o 
all the fresh and absorbing emotions of first love 
that there was room in the young girl’s heart 
for no thought of other things. All the world 
was bathed in rosy light for her — her heaven 
was brightest of the bright, and she forgot for 
the time that there were such things in nature 
as black clouds fraught with evil. 

For Eugene Embler,, too, the week had been 
well-nigh perfect in its joy and peace. In his 
heart the flood of happiness swept on, blotting 
out all suspicion of coming or existing evil, and 
filling him with good-will toward all the world. 

He saw Mildred daily, and had soon decided 
upon the course which prudence and affection 
told him was the right one to pursue. 

143 


144 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"We will wait a little, dear, before we speak 
to your father," he said to her the day afteV the 
declaration of his love. I have waited so long 
that it seems a little hard to have to wait even 
ever so short a time, now that happiness is so near 
to me, but it is best." 

" We know of our love, Eugene, and that is 
enough," answered Mildred fondly. 

"God bless you, dear. It is happiness indeed. 
Ah! Mildred, you can never know what it was to 
me to see you day by day; to think that may be 
someone else seeing you, too, would love you, as 
it seemed to me all men must, and I should have 
to stand by helpless and dumb, with no right to 
move or speak to save myself from despair — to 
give myself one chance of happiness." 

"Eugene, I understand," whispered Mildred, 
slipping her hand in his as she spoke ; "but don’t 
let us talk of that, dear. Let the past and all 
its troubles go. Nothing can separate us now." 

At her fond and fearless words a sudden 
spasm seemed to shake Eugene Embler, and he 
clasped her hand more closely as he answered: 

"No, dear, no. Nothing can part us now, 
Mildred — nothing, now." 

For a few moments silence fell between them 
like a veil, hiding their thoughts from one an- 
other, for not even to the fondest, truest hearts 
can perfect unity be known. 


EUGENE AND MILDRED 


145 


Then Eugene Embler asked: 

"When does your father return, Mildred?" 

"I don’t know, Eugene. He could not find the 
tools he must have, he tells me in a letter which 
came this evening,, and he has written for further 
leave of absence, to enable him to have some 
made under his own eye — you know what father 
is, Eugene — but of course he may not get it." 

"Oh, yes, he will," answered Embler promptly. 
"The owners of the works are the best of men — 
nothing mean or illiberal about them; and Mr. 
Stevenson, the president, is one who would take 
an honest interest in such a genius as Marshall 
Manning, and help him in every way he could — 
not cramp and crush him, or, worse still, as many 
would, set himself to pick his brains for his 
own profit. He will get leave of absence fast 
enough, Mildred, never fear." 

"Then it may be some days before he comes 
home again,” said Mildred. 

"Perhaps it is as well, dear," returned Embler 
firmly. "Nothing can part us now; it will 
give me time to put things beyond all doubt." 

"Eugene — Eugene — there is no doubt? There 
can be no doubt, dear! " cried Mildred, a breath- 
less terror suddenly falling upon her, and almost 
stealing away her voice. 

"I think not, dear. God help us if there were! 
But it will give me time to get proofs. The 

Caleb Clickett lo 


lie 


CylLEB CLICKETT 


news— my release, Mildred, from a fate that 
was far worse than death — was sent to me in a 
form that should leave no room for doubt. "Her 
sister wrote,’’ he continued, avoiding mention of 
the name of his dead wife, "and pasted upon 
the inner page of the letter that set me free 
was a newspaper paragraph telling the story 
of her death — the pitiful ending of a profitless 
life. See, darling, I want to spare you as much 
of the sad story of my past as I can; but may 
be you should read this for yourself,’’ and he 
handed her the letter with the broad black edge, 
with the newspaper clipping fastened to it. 

With dim eyes, full of sympathy for the man 
at her side who had suffered so sorely and so 
long, and not wholly free from pity for the 
dead woman, Mildred Manning read the not very 
neat missive which told the taie of the death of 
her lover’s wife. 

How strange it all seemed! But she could 
bear now even the thought that the man she 
loved had once been the husband of another woman, 
for her heart told her that this new love was as 
far asunder from the old as heaven is from 
earth. 

So she read on, and in a few moments had 
learned all the little sheet of paper had to 
tell. 

The letter had no formal opening, and ran thus; 


EUGENE AND MILDRED 


147 


"242 West Twenty-sixth street, ) 
New York, Friday evening. ) 

"She is dead. I won’t pretend to thinky<7« will 
die over it, for men don’t care for women as 
women care for men, and you can’t have cared for 
her, or you would have found her out before 
now. And she didn’t care for you after a while, 
or she would have claimed her rights, for we 
always knew where to find j^ou — yes, her rights, 
for, after all, she was your wife, Eugene Em- 
bler, and you must help me to bury her. She 
was my sister, and a better one than many a bet- 
ter woman might have been. She did not trouble 
you for money during her life, but you can send 
fifty dollars for the expense of her funeral, as 
money has not been plentiful with us lately. 

'Dora Ingham. 

"To Mr. Eugene Embler, 47 Hamilton street. 
New Haven. 

"P. S. — Send your answer to the post-office 
station at Seventh avenue and West Twenty- 
eighth street. I will call for it there. D. I." 

On the inner page was pasted a printed clip- 
ping which ran as follows: 

"Fatal Accident on Eighth Avenue. — As a 
horse and heavy wagon belonging to Messrs. John- 
son, Smith & Co., of 305 Canal street, was being 
driven up Eighth avenue yesterday afternoon, the 
horse suddenly took fright and ran away, coming 


148 


CALEB CLICKETT 


into collision with a private carriage, and knock- 
ing down a lady at the corner of Twenty-third 
street. The lady was rendered insensible, and 
was carried into a neighboring drug-store. Upon 
recovering consciousness she was removed to No. 
242 West Twenty-sixth street, where she died 
before medical assistance could be procured. 
The deceased was known at this house by the 
name of Ida Ingham, but it is understood that 
she was a married woman, living apart from her 
husband. The cause of death was shock to the 
system and concussion of the brain. ” 

Without a word Mildred Manning handed 
back the fateful letter to Eugene Embler, who 
folded it with care and thrust it away in his 
pocket. Then, after a brief interval of silence, 
he said quietly: “I have sent the money, and I 
have asked for a copy of the certificate of death, 
the doctor’s address, and the place where she 
is buried. Perhaps I ought to have gone to New 
York and seen the last of her, but what a mock- 
ery it would have been! How could I have as- 
sumed the part of a mourner when all the time I 
was thanking God in my heart that He had res- 
cued me from being fettered to her for life? 
Better surely that I should not soil my soul by 
acting such a heartless lie. ” 

"It is true, Eugene; you were better away. 
You could have done no good to her, poor creat- 


EUGENE AND MILDRED 


149 


ure! and it must always be right and better, to 
avoid hypocrisy, even at the risk of being mis- 
judged.” 

“You can pity her?" said Embler softly. 

"Indeed I can — if only for not knowing what 
she lost in losing your love, dear.” 

Eugene stooped and kissed her, and with a 
word or two of trust and love, left her, happy 
and at peace. 

A few days later, Elsie and Oscar Sherman, to 
both of whom the lover’s story had been told, were 
chaffing each other in their usual good-natured 
fashion, without the faintest intention of quar- 
reling, when Mildred entered the room with an 
open letter in her hand. 

"Did I tell you this morning that father 
would be home to-night, Elsie? You must help 
me to have everything bright and cozy for him. 
Come, Oscar, when you’ve done with your non- 
sense, perhaps you’ll let her assist me for a 
few minutes.” 

"Let me help, too, Mildred,” returned the 
young man, eagerly. 

" You help — a great, awkward — there. I’ve no 
patience with you," interrupted Elsie Manning, 
laughing merrily. 

"You are very hard on me. Nothing I can say 
or do is right,” complained Oscar, with an odd 
expression of despair elongating his jolly face. 


150 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"I think it is because you are too sensitive 
about a joke that’s made at your expense,” retort- 
ed Elsie. 

“No one else is ro sharp with me,” continued 
the poor fellow, with a rueful countenance. 

“Then you shouldn’t come near me, if your’e 
so tender. Barefooted folk shouldn’t tread upon 
thorns,” returned the girl, with a mischievous 
smile. 

“Thorns, Elsie, thorns? No, roses — the sweet- 
est, loveliest roses.” 

“Now, once for all, Oscar,” retorted the girl, 
with a pleasant laugh and a pretty blush, “you 
see how busy Mildred is; come and help us, and 
do hold your foolish tongue. I don’t want to 
hear a word of your nonsense' about roses. 
Roses, indeed! ” she rattled on, as she bustled 
helpfully about the room. “I suppose you’ll be 
writing verses about us next, and rhyming your 
roses with posies or noses, or something about 
as sensible.” 

“Ah! if I only could write poetry, Elsie! if I 
only could say — ” and he suddenly stopped short 
in confusion, as he found himself tenderly feel- 
ing of his own nose, and saw the faces of the 
two girls, as they broke into a merry peal of 
laughter. 

“Really, Oscar, you mean to flatter us, I dare 
say, but I wish you would let our noses alone,” 


EUGENE AND MILDRED 


15 ] 


said Mildred, with a humorous twinkle in her 
bright eyes. 

"I see no harm in a little innocent joke,” he 
said, in reply. 

"Joke! Do you call that a joke?” retorted El- 
sie, with assumed indignation. “If I were you, 
Oscar, I wouldn’t try to be funny. Want of 
wit’s worse than want of wealth, for one may be 
remedied eveif by a fool who has good luck, but 
the other, never.” 

Before Oscar Sherman could think of the pat 
reply which he felt that he ought to have made, 
and which was sure to flit through his brain 
some hours later, in the silent watches of the 
night, the cottage door opened, and the sturdy 
form of Marshall Manning appeared. 

"Father !’’ cried both the girls in a breath; and 
then there ensued an affectionate rivalry between 
them as to who should be the more active in re- 
moving his coat and making him comfortable in 
the big, low-seated easy-chair in front of the 
cheerful, crackling fire. 

The old man kissed both his daughters, and 
nodded in a friendly way to Oscar Sherman, but 
it was evident to them all that his mind was not 
with them. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE INVENTOR BEWILDERED A MOMENT’S REJOICING 

THE SHADOW OF NIGHT AND DARK DESPAIR 

Marshall Manning took his place in the depths 
of the chair, and as he answered in monosylla- 
bles his daughters’ inquiries as to his health, his 
visit to New York and its results, he was ap- 
parently absorbed in one of his day-dreams. The 
girls knew his moods so well that they did hot 
attempt to interrupt the current of his thoughts, 
but waited patiently until he chose to speak. 

This was quite soon, and his cheerful tone 
quickly put them all at their ease. 

"A fine old bear I must be,” he said, with 
hearty kindliness, after a few moments spent in 
his dreamy reverie; ‘‘not a word for any of you. 
Well, dears, you .know it is not because I am 
not glad to get back to the little home. But 
there is so much to think of, so much to do — so 
little time," he repeated, with a stifled sigh, as 
he gazed into the glowing depths of the fire. 

‘‘Did you get what you wanted, father?” asked 
Mildred, ignoring the latter part of his speech. 

‘‘Yes, .dear, after teaching the man his business. 

152 


THE INVENTOR BEIVILDHRED ir,.‘{ 

Lord ! what fools and idlers some men are ! This 
fellow — God bless my soul !— he knew no more 
the sort of things I wanted than a Comanche In- 
dian, and seemed to think, like so many of them, 
that anything would do. I had to draw pat- 
terns of every identical thing as closely as I pos- 
sibly could, and then, to give the devil his due, 
the man certainly did contrive to turn out some- 
thing like what I wanted. By the way, Mil- 
dred, talking of that, I suppose I have not been 
wanted at the works?” 

“No, father; not to my knowledge,” returned 
his daughter. 

“And you and Elsie, between you, would have 
been tolerably sure to have heard of anything of 
the kind, I reckon,” said Marshall Manning, 
with a shrewd smile. 

Elsie smiled and said nothing, but gave Oscar 
Sherman such a coquettish glance that it was 
only by a marvel of self-control and the continual 
silent repetition of “Fifteen dollars a week; what! 
marry on fifteen dollars a week?” that he re- 
strained himself from incontinently taking her in 
his arms, and then and there asking the old man’s 
blessing upon them both. 

"Ah! but it’s a real pleasure to be employed 
at our works,” the superintendent resumed, with 
an earnest ring in his voice; “no degradation in 
that labor. The engines and machinery we 


154 


CALEB CLICKETT 


turn out are such grand affairs that everyone who 
has part or lot in making them — aye, from Mr. 
Stevenson and the other officers down to the 
lowest laborer — might well be proud to remember, 
wherever they may be in years to come, that they 
have been connected with the establishment, no 
matter in how great or humble a degree it may 
have been.” 

“But about yourself, father resumed Mil- 
dred. 

“About, me? Oh! Pm right enough, dear. I 
have my tools now, and can forge ahead during 
the winter, and soon after the New Year, with 
God^s help and good fortune, my machine may 
see the light." 

“I am so glad, father — after all these years,” 
said Mildred; adding a moment later, when the 
memory of so many similar promises flitted 
through her ardent young brain, like chill, gray 
ghosts: “You are sure, father — you are sure 
that this time you have reaiiy found out the 
secret? ” 

“Yes, my daughter; and if the Lord will, I 
shall yet live to see you ride in your carriage, 
and you will live to see your father, old Marshall 
Manning, the crank, the dreamer, looked up to 
as one of the great inventors of the day — may be 
one of the benefactors of the age,” he added, the 
enthusiast’s fire lighting up his dreamy eyes. 


THE INI^ENTOR BEIVILDERED 


155 


“But, dear, you must not overwork yourself,” 
said Mildred gently. 

She was not altogether unaccustomed to her 
father’s rhapsodies, and, truth to tell, while 
she loved him and was proud of him, she did 
not altogether share his confidence in the reali- 
zation of his rosy dreams. 

“There is no fear of that, my girl," he an- 
swered cheerily. “I have plenty of tools now, and 
can go straight ahead — straight ahead to victory 
— thanks to the generosity of Mr. Brian Hawkes. ' 

The utterance of the name fell in the little 
circle like a bombshell. 

"Mr. Brian Hawkes?" echoed Mildred faintly, 
and in tones of horror, while Elsie and Oscar 
Sherman looked at each other in silent bewilder- 
ment. 

“Yes, dear; he was most kind: took an inter- 
est in the model at once — and I had done him 
the injustice of thinking- him an empty-headed 
fool. Then, best of all, Mildred, when he found 
I wanted money for new tools, he offered me 
five hundred dollars. That’s what I call a friend 
and a gentleman in real earnest." 

"And you took his money, father?" asked the 
girl breathlessly. 

"Of course — why not, dear; ’twas but a loan, 
and one day he shall be paid back, with interest 
such as he never dreamed of.” 


156 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"Father! father!" stammered Mildred, and 
stopped, unable to control herself sufficiently 
to put her feelings into words. 

The old man, whose mind had already slipped 
back to his beloved work, was bending over the 
table, opening a parcel containing the precious 
tools with the utmost care, for did they not 
mean to him the very crown and triumph of 
long years of thought and labor? But something 
in the tone of his daughter’s voice pierced 
through the crust of self-absorption, and he turned 
toward her with an anxious look in his eyes. 

“Why, Mildred, dear, what is the matter? 
Aren’t you glad that I found this gentleman, to 
act like a friend to me, just when I needed one 
so badly?” 

“Mr. Hawkes is no friend, no gentleman, 
father," answered Mildred, in hesitating accents. 

“Why, what do you know about him, child?” 
returned Marshall Manning, marveling at her 
look, and a little afraid, in a vague, unpleasant 
sort of way. 

“More than I can tell you now, father, an- 
swered Mildred; “he is no friend to you; he is 
not a good man, father. Oh! how could you 
take money from him?'" she cried passionately. 

Marshall Manning looked from one to the other 
of the group in sheer amazement, tie could not 
understand the meaning of this strange outburst 


THE Ihll^EHTOR BEIVILDERED 


157 


on the part of Mildred, who was usually so 
calm, so gentle, so loath to speak or even listen 
to aught but good of living soul. 

In answer to the inquiry in his eye, Oscar 
Sherman 'Said quietly: 

“Mildred is right, Mr. Manning. Brian Hawkes 
is no fit friend of decent folks.’ 

“Tell me — tell me just what you mean, Sher- 
man. I don’t understand all this. Has anything 
happened while I have been away, thinking of 
nothing but myself and my own plans — Heaven 
forgive me! " 

“No, no, father dear, nothing particular has 
happened. Don’t reproach yourself. There is no 
need. You did not know. I will tell you — by 
and by,” murmured Mildred rapidly. Then she 
added : . “Oh, why--why, dear, could you not 
have asked Eugene Embler?” 

“Eugene Embler?” echoed her father, looking 
keenly at her as he spoke. 

“Yes, father; you could have trusted /lim/’ said 
Mildred. 

“I know it,, Mildred, and I do trust him. He 
is a fine fellow, and I know well would have 
helped me if I had asked him. But, dear, there 
were reasons — ” and the old man hesitated and 
looked a little confused; then added, but still 
with rather an embarrassed air: “Why should 1 
have asked him, Mildred? He has to earn his 


158 


CALbu ^lICKETT 


moneyas we all do, and I had no claim on him.” 

A pretty blush mantled the cheek of the 
daughter as she bent over and kissed her father, 
whispering: 

“Yes, dear, you had more than you thought. 
He has something to tell you, father.” 

The old man looked at Mildred shrewdly. Her 
whole face was lighted up with the brightness 
which comes of a joyous heart, and for the mo- 
ment even the dreams of the inventor were swal- 
lowed up in a rush of parental love. 

“My dear, dear Mildred! Has he spoken to 
you, then?” 

“Yes, and he is coming to see you to-night. 
Oh, you are not angry, father?” 

“Angry, dear? It is the best of news. In- 
deed, there is no man living to whose care I 
would rather trust my little girl. But it is hard 
to think of losing you, though it is but what I 
might have looked for, sooner or later. I could 
not have hoped to keep you all my life, dear. 
Yet, how I shall miss you — how I shall miss you! ” 

“Pm glad to think that, father,” answered the 
girl, tenderly smoothing his gray hair with her 
soft hand, as she spoke, adding softly: ‘‘We 
must not be far apart ever. ” 

While this confidential little chat was in prog- 
ress, Oscar and Mildred’s sister had been busying 
themselves at the other end of the room with 


THE INVENTOR BEIVILDERED 


150 


domestic details, relieved by a little quiet love- 
making, and in another minute a tempting meal 
smoked on the table, and all drew up to partake 
of it with hearts brimful of love and thankfulness. 

“To-night, did you say, Mildred?” asked her 
father presently, when he had satisfied the first 
cravings of an appetite sharpened by a long 
fast and by the savory odor which curled up 
from the uncovered dishes. 

“Yes, father, he said he would come to-night. 
He is so eager, dear, to tell you how hajJpy we 
are,” answered Mildred. 

“Well, my daughter, I have always liked him — 
almost like a son. He is a splendid fellow, 
and you will be happy with him. I always 
thought him a little old for his years, but a man 
had better be steady than weak and spiritless, 
especially when he is going to take a wife and 
make a home, eh, my dear?” 

Mildred paled a little; then she answered 
quietly: 

“He will have much to tell you, father, and 
then — then you will understand him better.” 

“Nay, my dear, don’t think I was complaining 
of him. Whatever he may have to tell me, I 
may undef'stand him better, as you say, but I can 
never like him better than I do now, and I wish 
him all the happiness he deserves. Hark! that 
sounds like his step on the front walk!" 


100 


C/1LEB CLICKETT 


A quick blush added to Mildred’s Deauty as she 
rose to meet her lover, with a world of pride and 
happiness beaming in her face, and with words 
of loving greeting on her lips. 

Then the door opened, and she staggered back, 
all the light and life gone out of her face, and 
pain and terror in her eyes. 

It was his footstep. Eugene Embler had 
come; but there was nothing of the happy tri- 
umph of the lover in his looks. 

With white, haggard face, and eyes from 
which an agony as of death itself looked out, he 
halted on the threshold, gazing at the little 
group as if in dumb despair. 

Sherman was the first to recover from the 
shock of his appearance, and putting his hand on 
Embler’s arm, he asked in low, excited tones: 

"What is it, Eugene? What’s wrong with 
you?" Then with an effort to make the best of 
what he feared was some coming tragedy, he 
added in a lighter tone: "Have you seen a ghost, 
man, or what?" 

Eugene Embler gazed at him a moment, as if 
he did not understand. Then, with a groan of 
agony and a gesture of despair, he cried out: 

"Worse, worse! Oh, my God! ten thousand 
times worse!" and fell like a dead man at the 
feet of Mildred Manning. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE DEAD ALIVE — DETECTIVE CLICKETT LISTENS 

The day which was destined to end so trag- 
ically for Eugene Embler had been a singularly 
happy one for him from dawn to dusk. All nature 
had seemed to rejoice with him in his joy, as he 
worked away at his appointed task — the finish- 
ing of the wonderful engine for the great million- 
aire's beautiful yacht. He had sung at his 
work, and directed those under him in cheery 
tones which fell gratefully upon the ear, ahd so 
the sunshine that warmed his heart was felt by 
all. 

Throughout the golden day, while the sun shot 
quivering shafts through the windows of the 
great room in which they worked, and the gleam- 
ing waters of the river and harbor were dotted 
over with busy steamboats and other craft, 
Eugene labored on like a Titan, insomuch that 
those with him, though they had good reason to 
know that he never was a shirk, were greatly 
astonished. But now that his mind was free 
from the degrading secret and the haunting fear 
of open shame which had weighed him down for 
Caleb Clitkett it 161 


1G2 


CALEB CLICKETT 


years, he could feel again, in all the fullness of 
his manly nature, the pride of taking part in the 
construction of an engine that should send a 
noble craft cleaving its way through the water 
at an unheard-of rate of speed, and thus aid in 
no small degree in bringing all the nations of 
the earth nearer together, for distance is no 
longer measured by miles and leagues, but by time. 

And then, too, Eugene Embler had something 
of the poet — something of the idealist — in his 
nature, and this wonderful engine was something 
more to him than a mere combination of iron 
and steel in many forms: it was the visible em- 
bodiment of the brain and nerve and muscle of 
many of his fellow-workmen, whom he respected. 
More still: it was the outward form and expression 
of who shall say what noble dreams, what arduous 
thought, what strenuous hours of concentrated 
calculation, what strain of mind and sinew, what 
quick-witted intelligence, what heroic courage, 
what worthy use of God-given powers of eye and 
hand and intellect, and of what high hopes 
and anxious tension, what unwearying patience, 
what weighty responsibility, and, at last, supreme 
success — something to be proud of forever ! 

Never had he felt more keenly that the glory 
of a man is in his strength; never had mind and 
body been in more perfect harmony, or life 
seemed fuller of beauty and of worth. 


THE DEAD ALIHE 


163 


At noon he had enjoyed a moment’s interview 
with Mildred, and had returned to his work re- 
freshed and stimulated by new happiness, and 
when at last the five o’clock whistle blew, as 
the gray autumnal mist stole up the river, and 
in the distance the green hills and level meadows 
melted into one soft, hazy picture, he strode 
away toward Forbes avenue, and so across the 
bridge to the horse-car terminus, his heart still 
full of thankfulness for the joy and peace which 
had come unlooked-for into his life. 

Arriving at the terminus, he took but little 
heed of the stir and bustle on the steamboat 
landing. The fussy and excited questions of 
bewildered travelers, the cool, dry answers of 
the officials, the score of glimpses of those 
comedies and tragedies of daily life of which 
a waiting-station or landing is so frequently the 
scene, were all passed by unnoticed. 

He hastened to the already crowded car, and 
making room for himself on the forward plat- 
form, rode to Hamilton street, where he alighted, 
and hurrying to his boarding-house, at once 
ascended to his own apartment, for he had much 
to do. 

During the week he had received a second let- 
ter from New York, which put the last lingering 
doubts to flight, and left him free to ask Mildred 
Manning to be his wife in the face of God and man. 


1G4 


CALEB CLICKETT 


Again, without a formal greeting, the strange 
communication fro^m the sister of his dead wife 
reached him. But he was in no mood to quarrel 
about forms or quibble about phrases, and it was 
with a sense of irrepressible gratitude that he 
read the following letter: 

“242 West Twenty-sixth street, ) 
New York, Thursday. J 

"The money came all right, and it was useful 
enough. Now I will give you your moneys s 
worth, like an honest woman. Ida was buried 
yesterday, just outside the city. I was the only 
mourner. I wonder if you gave her a thought? 
Well, it doesn’t matter to her or anybody else 
now. It is all over, and I can see you gloating 
over this letter, as if it had brought the best of 
news. The doctor who saw her gave a certificate 
of death from concussion of the brain. ” He called 
it by some Latin name which I forget, and I gave 
the paper to the undertaker. The doctor’s name 
is Thompson, and he lives close by, just across 
Seventh avenue. Ida never spoke after they 
brought her home. The fifty dollars just paid for 
the funeral, as I wasn’t going to let my sister be 
buried like a dog. Dora Ingham. 

"To Eugene Embler. " 

For a little while, after reading this strange 
letter, Eugene Embler felt a manly pity for the 
unhappy wretch whose unwomanly life had termi- 


THE DE/iD /HIVE 


lOo 

nated in such a terrible manner, but a night’s 
sleep refreshed him. His conscience was at rest, 
and the keen morning air infused new life into 
his vigorous frame, as he strode off to catch a 
passing car; and by the time he reached the 
Works he had been forced to the conclusion that to 
profess any other feeling than one of intense 
relief would be but hypocritical and unworthy. 

Had she been different — had she retained any 
honest claim upon him — he would have done his 
duty by her, and tried, even at the price of life- 
long misery, to save her from herself. But she 
would not have it so. 

All that a woman could do to make herself the 
bane and curse of tfae man to whom she had sworn 
to be a true wife this woman had done, and it 
was as natural for him to thank God that He 
had freed him from her as it would have been 
had he been raised up from a bed of what seemed 
like death. 

In truth his soul had been well-nigh killed 
within him by the load of shame and misery he 
so long had borne in uncomplaining silence. 
What wonder if he should now rejoice in its new 
and glorious sense of life! 

So, as the days passed, this sense of freedom 
grew until at last he had sung at his work, 
and now that he had learned from Mildred that 
her father would return that night he had 


16(5 


CALEB CLICKETT 


crowned her happiness by promising that he too 
would return, and tell him of their love. 

Upon leaving Hamilton street, however, Eugene 
Embler did not make his way at once to the 
little cottage on Townsend avenue. He had a 
little business to do in the center of the city 
first, where he had remarked, a few evenings 
before, a certain modest gold ring set with pure 
pearls, as softly radiant as the beauty of the 
girl he loved, and which he destined for her 
finger — a sign, in its unbroken circle, of the eter- 
nity of the bond between them. 

So, turning toward Chapel street, he took a car 
to the corner of Church, alighting near the en- 
trance to the green — a spot as busy as ever with 
men and women and children homeward-bound 
or pleasure-seeking, as the case might be, and 
turning aside a moment to slip two letters into 
the post-office — one addressed to Miss Dora 
Ingham, post-office station Seventh avenue and 
Twenty-eighth street. New York, and the other 
to Dr. Thompson, Twenty-sixth street, near 
Seventh avenue. New York — he hastened back to 
Chapel street, with its never-ceasing rattle of 
vehicles, its smoothly gliding horse-cars, and its 
throng of men and women; and turning eastward, 
he hurried along toward Orange, until, when 
about half-way, he paused before a window where 
were laid out in prodigal profusion whole regi- 


THE DEAD ALH^E 


1G7 


ments of pretty productions of the jeweler’s 
dainty craft. 

A few moments’ careful scrutiny of the 
window, and he saw that the particular ring upon 
which he had set his heart was still unsold, 
and in a few minutes more he had made it his 
own, and was striding back toward Church street, 
eager to catch the next car, and so the sooner meet 
his darling, to claim her from her father, to slip 
upon her finger this sweet and sacred token of 
their mutual love. 

On he went, thinking little of those around 
him, and much of the girl whom he was going to 
meet; and absorbed in his pleasant reverie, he 
did not notice that he had passed the corner, and 
was directly in front of the arch which spans 
Gregson street. 

Here, as usual, there were knots of people 
gathered, and all at once a voice fell on his ear, 
compelling his attention. 

A woman was having some trivial altercation 
with a policeman. It was easy to tell by her 
shrill voice that she was the worse for liquor, 
but the officer seemed to Eugene to be unmerci- 
fully severe ; so, ever a champion of the weak, 
he hesitated an instant to see if he could be of 
any use. 

At this moment the light of a neighboring street-- 


168 


C/1LEB CLICKETT 


lamp fell upon his face, and also upon another 
— that of the woman in the crowd. 

With a low cry he shrank back; but even had 
he wished to avoid recognition, it was too late, 
for the woman had caught sight of him, and 
with a hideous chuckle of triumph, said to the 
policeman: 

"Let me go, d’ you hear? That gentleman^s a 
friend of mine — a particular friend. Let me 
go! ’’ and before he could stop her she had pushed 
her way through the crowd to where Eugene 
Embler stood, just within the shadow of the 
arch. 

With a white, haggard face, so different from 
that of a moment ago that it seemed as if a 
mask had suddenly been drawn over it, Eugene 
Embler stood there, waiting for his doom. 

With a malignant sneer upon her lips, the 
woman advanced close to him, and looked up 
into his face. 

Involuntarily he recoiled from her. His whole 
soul shrank in horror and loathing from this foul 
thing which had come back from the dead to 
blast his life. 

The movement, slight as it was, was not lost 
upon his companion, and inspired her w th new 
malignancy — the fury of a woman scorned — and 
it seemed, too, as if it sobered her. 

With a low, harsh laugh, pitiless as the devil- 


THE DEAD ALIVE 


169 


ish triumph of an evil spirit over a lost soul, 
she put her hand upon his arm. 

■‘You don’t seem glad to see me, Eugene," she 
said in constrained, metallic tones. 

The little crowd which had gathered when the 
shrill voice of the woman and the rough bass of 
the policenmn were in altercation had now dis- 
persed, and when Eugene Embler recovered his 
self-possession to some extent, his first thought 
was to avoid as far as possible the open shame 
of a scene in the public street. 

‘‘Come away — for God’s sake,^ come away! ” he 
muttered hoarsely, turning and passing through 
the archway into Gregson street as he spoke. 

The woman followed him closely, their arms 
touching as they walked. 

When they had gone. a dozeA paces or so, fol- 
lowed by a coarse laugh or two from some of the 
people who were a little annoyed at being balked 
of a free show, he turned toward her and said, 
in a low, fierce voice which shook with rage and 
horror: 

‘‘What devil’s trick is this, woman?" 

And, unseen by either of them, another, who had 
stealthily followed them, bent eagerly forward 
to catch the answer. 

It was Caleb Clickett, the detective. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE DETECTIVE IS DEEPLY INTERESTED IN WHAT HE 
OVERHEARS 

Detective Clickett had seen this woman before 
that day — had seen her under peculiar circum- 
stances, which were destined to have a strange 
bearing on the fate of more than one of the 
characters in this story — and he had concluded 
that it was his business to find out all he possibly 
could about her. 

And now, when he saw her accost this honest- 
looking, gentlemanly young fellow so familiarly 
— even imperiously — he determined to know what 
it all meant, and so, drawing still nearer, and at 
length slipping into a passage-way just behind the 
ill-assorted pair, he bent forward and listened. 

What devil’s trick is this, woman?” repeated 
Eugene sternly. 

With a light, careless laugh, through which, 
however, there was perceptible to her compan- 
ion’s highly strung senses a note of cruel tri- 
umph, the heartless creature answered; 

"You always were a fool, Eugene. I wondered 
170 


THE DETECriVE DEEPL Y INTERESTED 


171 


whether you would know me again after all 
these years.” 

“I was little likely to forget you," he retorted 
bitterly. 

‘ Then I haven’ t changed much? I have worn 
well?” she resumed, with a ghastly air of co- 
quetry. 

“No, you have not changed, evidently. You 
are the same — as full of lies and tricks and devil- 
tries as ever." 

“You don’t flatter me, Eugene.” 

“For God’s sake! woman, don’t speak in that 
way. Tell me. what is the meaning of this? I 
thought you were dead and buried.” 

' A little joke; Eugene, a little joke. It was 
so long since we had met that I thought a 
little surprise would be amusing to both of us.” 

“ What a fiend you are! Great God! that creat- 
ures like you should be permitted to live, pol- 
luting the very air you breathe, when good women 
suffer and die.” 

The woman laughed again, her strong white 
teeth and gleaming e5^es giving her something of 
a tigerish look in the dim light. 

As she made no answer in words, Embler re- 
peated bitterly: 

“I thought you were dead — ” 

“And rejoiced — now did you not?” interrupted 
his wife. 


172 


CALEB CLICKETT 


“What else should I do?” returned her com 
panion, almost inaudibly. 

“Well, you need not have told me — even me — 
the truth quite so brutally. But it matters lit- 
tle. I have had my joke, Eugene, and if you 
can’t laugh at it / can. 

“But it was in the newspapers. What did it 
mean? I know you of old, and that you are devil 
enough for anything; but how could even you 
have got a false report like that inserted in the 
paper? " 

“How simple you are, Eugene! Still the same 
guileless innocent abroad. Suppose among my 
few friends I should number a printer or sub- 
editor, and suppose I may still be able to twist a 
man round my finger when I choose, would it be 
so wonderful, then, if he agreed to do me a little 
favor, just for a joke?” 

“But what object had you in it?” asked Em- 
bler. “Surely ewen you might have stopped short 
of such a devilish piece of work! ” he exclaimed 
fiercely, the great wave of misery which this 
untimely resurrection had brought upon him 
sweeping away all possible pity for the wretched 
woman. “I should have thought that no living 
soul in the shape of man or woman would have 
conceived or lent himself to so shameless a plot. ” 

“Ah! Eugene, you evidently don’t know what 
women are, yet— ^nor men either. I suppose you 


THE DETECTiyE DEEPLY INTERESTED 


173 


thought that as I had not troubled you for so 
long, I should never trouble you again. Well, 
you were mistaken. You may have forgotten me, 
but I have not lost sight of you — never for a 
moment. ’’ 

"Why — why have you dogged me like this? 
Why could you not at least let me live my 
wretched life alone?” asked Embler hoarsely, 
struggling as best he could against the terrible 
anger which welled up in his soul against this 
double traitress. 

“A whim — a mere woman’s whim. You know 
what queer creatures we are,” returned his wife 
lightly, adding with a laugh: "Angels, aren’t we? 
when men want us; devils when they don’t.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Both were 
thinking rapidly, and the detective, who was 
intensely interested, cautiously and noiselessly 
changed his position a little. 

"Then what do you mean to do?” at length 
asked Embler dully, desperate in his misery as 
he thought of all that this woman’s reappear- 
ance meant for him. 

With a pang of unutterable pain he felt his 
hand touch the little box in his pocket which 
held what he had fondly believed to be the sign 
and seal of the happiness of all his future years. 

"Do? I think it is for me to ask that ques- 
tion of you. Don’t think that because I have 


174 


CALEB CLICKETT 


not chosen to ask you to keep me for a few 
years, I have no right to do so now. Suppose, 
too,” she added, with a subtle affectation of 
passion in her voice which stung him like the 
venomous tongue of a snake, and made him re- 
coil again from her in an overmastering im- 
pulse of loathing and disgust, “suppose I were 
to say that the old weakness — the old folly, if 
you like — had mastered me again — that I had 
remembered that I was your wife — that I loved 
you ! ” 

There was a slight but a decided movement in 
the passage-way, as if the listener had started 
with surprise; but the woman heard it not, and 
the man, in his agony, paid no attention. 

The bold eyes and brazen manners of the 
creature before him forced themselves upon his 
senses in horrid contrast to the sweet and gentle 
face, the truthful eyes, the modest mien of Mil- 
dred Manning; like some flaunting, scarlet poppy, 
gaudy and poisonous, rearing its head by the 
side of a pure white lily. 

With a stifled groan, he turned to the woman 
by his side, and said in strained, harsh tones: 

“Let us cease this folly. You have spoiled my 
life so far. Do you mean to blast it to the end?” 

“Why should you think so?” 

“How can I think otherwise, after what you 
have already done?” 


THE DETECTIVE DEEPLY INTERESTED 


175 


“You take my little joke too seriously. How 
Dora and I laughed as we wrote that touching 
story of my death! ” 

“You she-devil! “ muttered Embler, beside him- 
self with misery and rage, as he felt the fiend- 
ish mockery of the smile with which the woman 
told the story of her plot, gloating alike over 
its ingenuity and its success. 

“You used not to call me anything so rude, 
Eugene,” retorted his companion, renewing, to 
his disgust, the affectation of amorousness which 
had already proved so repulsive to him. “There 
was a time when you could not say sweet things 
enough to me. You loved me once, Eugene.” 

“Never! I never loved you. I may have thought 
so in my foolish passion, but I never loved you. 
That holy word should never pass the polluted 
lips of women such as you.” 

“Cruel — cruel; but I will not reproach you. If 
you cannot give me your love again, you can 
give me your name and a home, and, strange as 
it may seem, I am tired of my present life, and 
have a fancy for respectability. Odd, isn’t it? 
but, like many other strange things, it is true.” 

“My name? A home? Great heavens! it is 
impossible,” stammered Eugene Embler, all the 
shame and torture of a life with this degraded 
creature rushing in upon his brain with fearful 
realism. 


176 


C/ILEB CLICKETT 


"Why not? You seem to forget that I have 
the right — the legal right — to both." 

"Perhaps; I cannot tell. All I know is that 
the same home can never hold both you and me 
while there is forgetfulness and peace to be 
found at the pistol mouth or in the waters of 
the harbor." 

"Do you mean that, Eugene?” asked the woman, 
in a voice that all at once grew grave. 

"By the God that sees us both, I mean it !" an- 
swered Embler, all the misery in his soul trem- 
bling in his voice. 

"Then what will you do?" 

"I cannot say.’ 

"But you must — you shall." 

"I will do what is right,” said the man dully, 
as if fighting with himself against a swarming 
crowd of temptations. 

"What will you do?" 

"You must give me time to decide." 

"Why? I am your wife; you don’t deny 
that?" 

"I cannot — " 

"Or you would?” 

"I would; and I would give ten years of my 
life to be able to do so with truth." 

"Well, Eugene, it’s no use speculating upon 
the impossible. Here I am, alive and well, and 
your wife. You thought me dead, and perhaps — 


THE DETECTIVE DEEPL Y INTERESTED 


177 


for you men are never to be relied on — you may 
already have chosen my successor — ” 

“Silence, woman!” cried Embler fiercely. 
“Whatever real or fancied claim you may have 
on me, whatever you may think of doing to fur- 
ther blast my life, at least you shall deal only 
with me and my past — that fatal past to which I 
owe the curse of all my manhood.” 

“Then you have — ” began the woman, but Eu- 
gene Embler interrupted her at once by saying, 
in hard, stern tones; 

“I warn you once for all, whatever I may or may 
not do for you, never speak like that again. My 
past was yours; my future — God help me! — may 
be yours; but the present is my own — a sacred 
memory if it can never be aught else." 

The woman listened to him quietly, then, with 
an angry light gleaming in her bold and hand- 
some eyes, she said: 

“It is no use bandying words. If you cannot 
give me your love, you can give me some of your 
money. I am rather low down in the world just 
now, and open to make very easy terms.” 

Embler felt that he must escape in some way 
from this haunting spirit of evil for the moment, 
or he would lose all control over himself. 

“We cannot talk here,” he said. “I will meet 
you in Wooster Square to-morrow night at ten. 

Caleb Clickett 12 e 


178 


C^LEB CLICKETT 


It will be quiet there, and we can talk over 
matters, and come to some arrangement.” 

To his surprise and relief, his proposal was at 
once agreed to. There was 3^et time for him to 
catch a car to Tomlinson Bridge, and so pay his 
promised visit to the Mannings. 

‘T agree. It is better that we should under- 
stand each other,” she said quietly, adding: 
"Give me something to help me over to-morrow. 
The fifty dollars are all gone.” 

Without a word, he drew a five-dollar bill 
from his pocket, and was just going to place it in 
her hand when a thought struck him. 

"How happened you to come up here just at 
this time?" he asked abruptly. ‘Tt was to see 
somebody else besides me, was it not?” 

The woman started, and a look of consterna- 
tion came into her face. 

"What — what do you mean?" she gasped. 

"You know very well what I mean,” he retorted 
sternly. "Your scamp of a brother is here — the 
brother who, by his cunning forgery, robbed you, 
and who no doubt, if the truth were known, has 
committed many another villainy.” 

"Oh! Jasper is here, is he?” exclaimed the 
woman, in a tone which she did her best to make 
seem careless, but which was really one of great 
relief. "I didn’t know what had taken the worth- 
less wretch.” 


THE DETECTIVE DEEPLY INTERESTED 


179 


"It’s either Jasper or his double,” said Eu- 
gene. "He calls himself, Brian Hawkes, and I 
haven’t been quite certain about his identity, but 
now that I see you — ” 

"Oh, pshaw! I don’t know anything about 
Jasper’s movements. The last I heard of him he 
was in Chicago--had got into some serious 
trouble there, I believe — married another wife, 
or forged somebody’s name, or something. But 
never mind him." 

"Then you haven’t come up here at his re- 
quest?” 

"No; why should I? I — I came to see you, 
and for no other reason whatever.” 

But she seemed nervous and ill at ease as she 
made the assertion. 

"Well,” said Eugene, looking hard at her, "take 
this. We shall soon know the truth, perhaps,” 
and he put the bank-note in her hand. 

The woman took it greedily, and muttered: 

"To-morrow, to-morrow,” and suddenly flitted 
away into the darkness. 

And Eugene Embler made his way, he scarce 
knew how, to Townsend avenue, his brain reeling 
with its burden of ill news, yet strong in his 
sense of duty, and the determination not to meet 
Mildred with a lie. 

The cottage reached, his strength enabled him 
to turn the knob and open the door; then will 


180 


CALEB CLICKETT 


and memory fled, a great darkness overwhelmed 
him, and he fell at Mildred’s feet with his awful 
tidings — trembling but untold upon his lips. 


CHAPTER XXI 


JAKE’S LODGING-HOUSE — CLICKETT GATHERS FURTHER 
INFORMATION 

Caleb Clickett wasted no time on Eugene Embler 
when the interview between that unhappy young 
man and his wife was over. After catching a 
glimpse of his face in the light from one of the rear 
windows in the great Insurance Building, and hear- 
ing the tones of his voice, he remembered that he 
had seen him more than once at the Quinnipiac 
Engine and Boiler Works; and so, satisfied that 
he could find him at any time in case he should 
want him, he let him go his way, and hastened 
after the woman. 

He caught up with her near the corner of Church 
and George streets, and followed her to the vicin- 
ity of Meadow and Water streets, where he saw 
her disappear through the entrance to one of the 
cheap boarding and lodging houses of that 
locality. 

'T thought so! ” he muttered, in a quiet tone 
of satisfaction, and at once entered the bar-room 
connected with the establishment. 

The proprietor was behind the bar, and alone, 
181 


182 


CALEB CLICKETT 


The detective approached, and looking him 
squarely in the eye for a moment, said: 

“Jake, you know me, I believe?” 

“Thunder!” was the answer, delivered with 
something of a growl, “I should just say I did.” 

“Well, then, knowing me as you do, you know 
I will stand no nonsense.” 

“Everybody knows that, Mr. Clickett.” 

“Very good. Now, then, you’ve got a couple of 
my pet lambs upstairs, and I must hear what they 
have to say to each other.” 

“You must be mistaken, sir; they’re all on the 
square in this house — not a crook in the lot. 
I’ve been mighty particular of late.” 

“Come, come, you’re wasting time, and I’ve 
none to spare. In what room is the fellow you 
call Oily Brent?” 

“Oh, him? But he’s alone, and you said there 
were two.” 

“Yes, I know he’s alone — excepting when he has 
a woman with him.” 

“Yes; but she’s his wife, he says — came up 
from New York only to-day to see him.” 

“I know all about that, Jake; I was present at 
their most affectionate meeting — only you needn’t 
tell them so. And now you may direct me so 
that I can find my way to the room next to the 
one they occupy, without running the risk of any- 
one’s seeing me." 


FURTHER INFORMATION 


183 


"All right, sir. Their room is on the third floor 
back, toward Commerce street. Go up the back 
stairs, and slip into the next room toward the 
front — the door’s unlocked — and if you cautiously 
open the register in the partition wall, which 
is about a couple of feet from the floor, you can 
hear all, and see a good deal of what is going on 
in their apartment. But mind, Mr. Clickett, 
you’re not to give me away." 

"Never fear, Jake; you’re all right;" and the 
detective quickly disappeared through a side door 
leading into a back hall. 

A minute later he was on the third floor, and 
having satisfactorily located Oily Brent’s room, 
he promptly entered the one adjoining, and closed 
and locked the door. 

Having lighted a match and located the register 
in the wall, he slowly and noiselessly opened it, 
but only to find that the one directly opposite, 
which admitted heat to the adjoining room, was 
closed. 

This, after some little trouble, he succeeded in 
opening a little way with the assistance of his 
pocket-knife. He was afraid to do more lest he 
should attract the attention of those he had come 
to watch. 

And now, although he could not very well see, 
he could hear; and appropriating the two pillows 
from the bed to make him comfortable, he 


184 


CALEB CLICKETT 


stretched himself at his length on the floor in 
front of the register, and listened. 

“But that shouldn’t have kept you all this 
time,’’ were the first words that reached his ear, 
in a man’s voice. "What have you been up to for 
the past two hours and more, Bd like to know?’’ 

“I really don’t know that it’s any of your business, 
Brent Brommer,’’ a woman’s voice replied, some- 
what sharply. 

“Ha! I thought so!’’ said the listener to him- 
self. “I knew I couldn’t be mistaken.’’ 

“None of my business, eh? We’ll see about that, ’’ 
retorted the man. “You’ve been drinking, for 
one thing.’’ 

“Of course I have; and so do you — when you 
can get anything to drink.’’ 

“You just bet I do. And that’s what grieves 
me, Ida, to think that you should get plenty of 
liquor, and spend an hour or so making way with 
it, when you knew that I was here all alone, with- 
out the means to buy even so much as a thimble- 
ful to drown the care that is killing me.’’ 

“Oh! Brent, you’re the same old humbug that 
you always were. But I can’t help liking you, 
and so — here, take a pull at this; .1 bought it on 
purpose for you.’’ 

“Whisky!" exclaimed Brent, with an audible 
sniff at the bottle; and seizing it, nothing was 
heard for the next moment or so but the gurgling 


FURTHER INFORM/ITION 


185 


of the spirituous stream as it found its way down 
his throat. 

"Ah! that’s good!” he at length paused to ex- 
claim. "Where did you get it? Not from Jake, 
I bet.” 

"No; I got it from a druggist. Told him it 
was for sickness, and so I must have the best. 
You’re very sick, ain’t you, Brent?” 

"Oh, you just bet I am. Here, let me take 
another pull." 

"There, there, Brent! that’s enough. Give me 
a chance, if you please.” 

"You? You’ve had enough already, my dear. 
But no matter; you were mighty good to bring it 
to me, and so you shall have a swallow. Now, 
then, what kept you?" 

"I’ve seen him." 

"What! Embler? The deuce you have!” 

"Yes, and I’m to see him again at ten o’clock 
to-morrow night, when we are to come to some 
understanding, and he is to settle what my allow- 
ance is to be. Ha, ha! " 

"Ida, you’re a devil !” 

"That’s what he said.” 

"Which goes to show that he’s not such a fool 
after all." 

"But he told me something else, Brent — some- 
thing that makes me a little uneasy.” 

"What’s that?" 


18C 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"Jasper’s here." 

"The deuce he is! What’s the fellow up to? 
Oh, I know; there’s a crack yacht being fitted 
out over on the Quinnipiac, and he’s been hired 
by certain parties interested in other works to 
ruin her engine and machinery." 

"What a villain he is! " 

"Yes; he’s a terror on wheels, and no mistake. 
But why should his being here make uneasy?" 

"Why, can’t you see? He’s utterly heartless — 
utterly selfish. You know how, by means of the 
forged will, he robbed Dora and me of every cent 
of our interest in father’s estate. Well, if he 
knew that I — or rather we — were here, he might 
think we had followed him in order to bleed him, 
for he’d suppose we’d think he had plenty of 
money — " 

"And he has plenty, too. Those who sent him 
to ruin the yacht’s engine had to come down with 
a nice sum in advance as earnest money — that I - 
happen to know." 

"Well, he’d think that we’d got an inkling of 
that. Perhaps he’s aware of the fact that you 
know it?" 

"Yes, of course." 

"Well, then, what Pm afraid of is, that in 
order to frighten us off, he may give Eugene a 
hint of the truth. He’s mean enough to do it — 
that you know." 


FURTHER information 


187 


"Mean enough? He’s mean enough for any- 
thing. But confound him! if he plays any such 
game as that on us, I’ll give him dead away. If 
he didn’t but know it, Hackett, the Chicago de- 
tective, isn’t done looking for him yet; and there’s 
a widow out there that would give a pretty penny 
to get her hands on him for about five minutes." 

"Yes; and I fancy his wife, who is now in 
Washington, would give something handsome for 
a page or two of his hidden history.” 

"You’re right, Ida. But let the fellow drop for 
the present, and hand me that — there, confound it! 
I’ve hurt my finger again. I wonder if the blamed 
thing isn’t ever going to get well." 

"Let me look at it, Brent. It’s the one you 
lost the nail from, isn’t it?” 

"Yes; I’ve heard that it takes six weeks for a 
new nail to grow, but it’s almost five times six 
weeks since I lost that one, and you can see the 
condition the finger is still in.” 

"Goodness gracious! it must have hurt you 
awfully, Brent.” 

"Hurt? That’s no name for it. I thought I 
should go wild with agony, or faint dead away.” 

"I can well believe it. And really, I don’t 
think you’ll ever have a decent nail on the finger 
again. I don’t see how you managed to go ahead 
with the job after such an accident.” 

"It was just clear grit that carried me through. 


188 


CALEB CLICKETT 


By the way, Ida, youWe taken good care of the 
stuff, I hope? ” 

"Of course — all that it wasn’t safe to convert 
into cash." 

"Good enough. I had to lay low after that 
affair, and I’ve had to be mighty cunning ever 
since I struck the city this time, all on account 
of that cursed finger-nail. The fact is, I believe 
Clickett found it. I thought once he’d got me 
cornered, and felt sure the game was up; but he 
seemed to put the affair into other hands, and 
then I just altered my face a little, borrowed a 
suit of clothes from a friend, and walked away 
as slick as you please.” 

"And then you went to Washington?" 

"Yes; I couldn’t know for certain, you under- 
stand, that I wasn’t followed. It might be a 
shrewd game on Clickett’s part to let me seem 
to slip through his fingers, thinking that I would 
lead them straight to the boodle; and so I kept 
away from you and hunted up dear brother Jasper. 
And I tell you what, Ida, I’ve made him come 
down handsomely more than once in the past six 
months, you bet." 

"I’m glad of it. And you knew he was com- 
ing up here?" 

"Yes, I knew it — not directly from him, you un- 
derstand — and I didn’t know just when he was 
coming; but I had certain information that the 


FURTHER INFORMATION 


189 


little scheme with regard to the yacht was defi- 
nitely settled.” 

“But why should you come? What object had 
you in running into such certain danger — into 
the very jaws of the lion, so to speak?” 

Brent Brommer hesitated before answering. 
At length, when the woman repeated her 
question, he said: 

“Well, if you must know, I came on a very 
delicate mission. Give me another pull at the 
bottle,, and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

The bottle was silently passed to him. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE DETECTIVE HEARS ENOUGH — EUGENE AWAKES TO 
DESPAIR 

"Thunder! ’’ exclaimed Bromrper, after a mo- 
ment’s inspection of the whisky-bottle, "it’s 
empty! Not a drop left, and I can’t talk with a 
dry throat.” 

"Ring the bell, then,” said the woman. 

"But, confound it, I haven’t enough to pay for 
a pint of liquor — no, nor half a pint, either.” 

"Of course not; but I have.” 

"You, Ida?” 

"To be sure. Didn’t I tell you I’d seen Em- 
bler? Do you suppose, having him at hand. I’d 
let him off without bleeding him?" 

"No, I’ll swear you wouldn’t. Ha, ha!" and 
he rang the bell. 

Jake himself answered the call, and left the 
room with the bottle and Eugene’s five-dollar 
bill in his hand. 

A few moments later a boy brought back the 
bottle, filled with indifferent whisky, and the 
change. 

After he had departed, and Brent had re- 
freshed himself, he said, very deliberately: 

190 


THE DETECTIVE HEARS ENOUGH 


191 


“Well, Ida, you wonder what brought me up 
here just at this time, and I suppose you wonder 
what made me send for you?” 

“I^o; I suppose I was sent for to bleed poor 
Eugene. ’’ 

“Incidentally, of course; but that was not the 
main thing. I wanted your assistance in court- 
ing a young lady and securing her for my wife.’* 

“Brent Brommer, what nonsense are you talk- 
ing now?” 

“Not nonsense, my dear, but the best possible 
sense. Just listen.” 

“I am all attention, sir.” 

“Well, then, there was a fellow named Norton — 
Herbert Norton — who fell in love with a very 
pretty girl named Ella Scofield, who six months 
ago lived, and at the present time still lives, 
well down Townsend avenue, near the Cove. 
Well, this poor chap, knowing that he wasn’t in 
the best of health, after the girl promised to be 
his wife, made his will, leaving her everything; 
and as a rich uncle had just died and left him a 
big fortune, to say nothing of the fact that his 
father was very wealthy, that was a good deal> I 
can tell you.” 

“I should say so; go on." 

“Well, the same night that I lost my finger- 
nail, the girl told Norton that she had found out 
that she didn’t love him, and hence couldn’t 


192 


CALEB CLICKETT 


marry him, and he went away in such a terrible 
state of mind that he dropped dead on the road 
before he was much more than half-way to the 
city. ” 

“Dropped dead! ’’ 

“Yes; and now see how queerly things turn 6ut. 
He had his will in his pocket, and was going 
to give it to her that night; but she told him 
she couldn’t marry him before he had a chance 
to say a word about it, and so he went away 
without even so much as showing it to her. 
Later, a crook named Buck Lawless came along, 
found the body on the road, and stripped it. 
We happened to take cover in the same den that 
night, and I assisted him in looking over some 
of the dead man’s papers. I found the will 
among the others, and as he didn’t seem to pay 
much attention to it, somehow it found its way 
into my pocket." 

“I begin to see what you are driving at," said 
Ida, musingly. 

“I suppose so. Well, in the exciting life I 
have led since then, I had almost forgotten the 
will; but some days ago, happening to take up 
a newspaper, I saw a notice of the death of Dr. 
Norton, the father of Herbert, and a statement 
that the great wealth his son would have inherited 
had he lived was going a-begging. Naturally, 
I then remembered the document in my posses- 


THE DETECTIVE HEARS ENOUGH 193 

sion, and after thinking the matter over a little, 
concluded that I might as well have the boodle 
as anybody else." 

"I see. And you think you can win this girl 
and get the money?” 

"With your help I think I can — that is, if 
Caleb Clickett don’t get on our track." 

"But what can I do?" 

"In the first place, you must know, she is now 
engaged to another man. You can play, with 
him — make a fool of him; then I’ll step in, and 
she’ll marry me out of pique — see?" 

"Ah! there may be something in that. Who 
is the man she’s engaged to?" 

"He’s a widower named Manning, a great en- 
gineer, machinist, and inventor. Miss Scofield 
only removed to the Cove about the time she 
was engaged to Norton, and then she got ac- 
quainted with Manning’s two daughters. Of 
course she soon saw their father, and becoming 
interested in his invention, quickly began to 
look upon him as little short of a god, and now 
they are engaged." 

"But isn’t he much older than she?" 

"Oh, yes; but she’s just one of that depend- 
ent kind of women that wants a mature, posi- 
tive man to cling to." 

"Well, she’ll get the mature part if she gets 
you — eh, Brent?" 

Caleb Clickett 


194 


CALEB CLICKETT 


“Well — yes, I’m afraid I am getting a little 
along in years; but you’re no chicken yourself, 
Ida.” 

“You’re mean to say that, Brent Brommer. 
Even Eugene admitted that I hadn’t changed 
much — that I’d worn well.” 

“The deuce he did! He must have lost his 
eyesight then.” 

“What’s that you say, you miserable wretch? 
Do you mean to insult me — me, your — ” 

“Hold up now. Don’t get mad, my dear. 
Here, take a pull at this; ’tain’t half bad, even 
if it has passed through Jake’s hands.” 

Some moments of silence now followed, during 
which Detective Clickett noiselessly rose to his 
feet. 

“I think I’ve heard enough,” he mused. “Now, 
I’ll have a serious little talk with Jake down- 
stairs, then send some trustworthy fellow to 
watch these good people in my place, and after 
that prepare the grand climax. Lord, won’t 
some folks be astonished though! Well, I 
reckon.” Then, as he noiselessly left the room 
and hurried down the back stairs: “I wonder if 
Horace Hackett is still in New York? or if he’s 
gone home to Chicago? I must find that out at 
the earliest possible moment.” 

Leaving the great detective to look after the 
various matters that demanded his careful atten- 


THE DETECTiyE HEARS ENOUGH 


1G5 


tion let us for a few moments return to the. 
Manning cottage. 

When Eugene Embler recovered consciousness, 
after the fainting fit induced by nervous ex- 
citement and exhaustion, all his vital energies 
suddenly relaxing from their terrible tension like 
r.n unstrung bow, his first thought was for Mil- 
dred. 

He looked round the little room, but his eyes 
only lighted upon Manning himself, who stood by 
him with eager anxiety in his face, and upon 
Oscar Sherman, who could not remain still for 
two minutes together in his friendly concern 
and painful sense of helplessness. 

Presently the healthy color began once more 
to suffuse his cheeks, and he asked, in firm, quiet 
tones; 

“Where is she?” 

“In her own room, with her sister and Ella — 
Miss Scofield, you know. I- — I thought it bet- 
ter—” 

“Right — you were quite right,” returned Eugene 
promptly. Then he gave one long, deep sigh — 
so intense in its evident pain that it was almost 
like a groan. 

“What is it, Eugene? What has happened, 
old fellow?” asked Oscar softly, his usually 
hearty voice gentle and kind as a woman’s. 

The look of pain deepened, and a dull cloud 


CALEB CLICKETT 


lOG 

seemed to steal over Eugene Embler^s eyes as he 
answered slowly: 

“I can^t tell you yet, Oscar — not now — not 
here — my God! not hereT he repeated, all the 
agony and despair which had fallen upon him 
showing itself in the tones of his voice. 

“I’d better get him home, Mr. Manning. He 
will be better there,” said Oscar, feeling sure 
that the one wish in his friend^ s heart was, for 
some reason, the exact nature of which he could 
only imagine, to avoid for the present meeting 
Mildred. 

With the shrewd instinct of true friendship, the 
young man had hit upon Eugene^ s feelings with 
absolute precision. 

Embler had rushed away from that terrible 
woman, fired with a noble»resolution to tell the 
truth at any cost to his own peace; to avoid the 
acting of a lie even for a single hour; to face 
fate boldly, relentless as it was; and strong in his 
own untarnished honor, dare it to do its worst. 
A rash resolve; but nature, kinder even to her 
despairing children than they dream, stretched 
out her hand in pitying intervention, and, now 
that all the horror of the thing was borne in 
upon his reviving senses, his first thought was to 
save Mildred, as far as might be, from the 
misery which had overwhelmed his own soul, 
and at least to save her from a painful shock, 


THE DETECTiyE HEARS ENOUGH WQ 

and to make the blow fall, if fall it must, as 
mercifully as might be, and upon one not wholly 
unprepared. 

He remembered, now that the double bewilder- 
ment had somewhat passed, that he must still 
reckon upon the effect the ill news which he 
sooner or later must tell would have upon so true 
and trusting a girl as Mildred; that he must still 
and always remember that she must be the first 
consideration; that she was all, and he himself 
was nothing. 

So it was with a quick and grateful glance at 
Oscar that he said eagerly; 

“Yes, Sherman, I shall be better at home. 
Let us go. See, I am well enough now,” and 
he rose to his feet, and was himself surprised to 
find no outward trace of his attack remaining, 
save a slight dizziness scarcely worth speaking of. 

Marshall ' Manning, whose mind was divided 
between various vague surmises as to the cause 
of the strange and painful incident, was at least 
clear upon one point, namely, that until some 
explanation was forthcoming, Mildred and Eugene 
Embler were better apart, and he therefore 
raised no objection to Eugene’s departure, secretly 
glad to escape the risk of an untimely meet- 
ing. 

“I hope you’ll be yourself again by morning, 
Eugene, my boy,” he said kindly, putting his 


198 


CALEB CLICK ETT 


hand upon the other’s shoulder with a fatherly, 
affectionate gesture as he spoke. 

Embler turned at the door, and grasping the 
inventor by the hand, answered huskily, and 
with emotion: 

“As well as I shall ever be again. I have 
much to tell you, Mr. Manning; but not now — 
to-morrow, may be." 

“Now, don’t fret yourself, Eugene. Bad news 
runs on wheels, but for all that, I can trust you, 
my boy. Tell me in your own time — I can wait; 
and may be it won’t prove as bad as you think." 

“Thank you, sir; it’s very good — " 

“Now, just get home and rest," interrupted 
Mr. Manning kindly; “there’s nothing in all the 
world for a sick mind or body like sleep. The 
clouds are always thickest and blackest in the 
night-sky, Eugene; but the dawn comes, my 
boy — the dawn comes in God’s good time.” 

With a strong, silent pressure of the hand, in 
which the two men’s honest hearts spoke to each 
other and were understood, they parted. As 
the door was closing, Eugene turned, and in 
the lamplight Marshall Manning saw his lips 
move. Then, controlling himself, and refrain- 
ing, with the keenest sense of honor, from send- 
ing even one word of love to the girl whom now 
he might never make his wife, the strong, lo3^al, 
suffering man strode away in the night. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


MRS. CRANDALL’S WARNING — THE GOOD LADY SUR- 
PRISED 

With friendship honest as a dog’s, Oscar Sher- 
man strode on by Eugene’s side, speaking no 
word, treating his friend’s silence with respect, 
knowing that when the fitting time came he would 
tell him frankly enough the meaning of this 
mysterious affair. 

But, as events proved, the young man had to 
possess his soul in such patience as he could for 
a longer time than he had reckoned upon. 

The homeward journey was made in absolute 
silence; then supper — a mere pretense on Eu- 
gene’s part — was dispatched without any volun- 
teered confidences; and when bed-time came and 
the night hours passed, and the two men found 
themselves setting out again together at early 
dawn to face a new day’s work, Eugene’s silence 
as to the events of the night before was still 
unbroken. 

To the surprise of both the men, however, 
whom should they see standing close by the en- 
190 


200 


CALEB CLICKETT 


trance to the works, when they reached their des- 
tination, but Mrs. Charity Crandall. 

The familiar figure, shrouded in a great shawl, 
looked almost ghostly in the gray light of early 
morning, and it was with a presentiment of 
coming trouble that Embler and his companion 
stopped in answer to her signal. 

“Why, Mrs. Crandall, youTe astir early this 
morning,” said Oscar, in as cheerful a tone as he 
could assume. 

“May be; but for that matter, Fm thinking you 
and Eugene look as though you’d been up all 
night, to say nothing of the morning. Is there 
anything wrong with you? It isn’t like either 
of you to look so out of sorts as you do now,” 
said the lady, with a keen glance at both of them, 
taking in at once their troubled looks, Eugene’s 
intense depression, and the strange something, 
almost like terror, in his eyes. 

Then Embler found his voice, and asked ques- 
tion for question, shirking for the moment the 
explanation which he dreaded and shrank from, 
and yet knew must come. 

"Udive you any bad news to tell us?” he asked 
at length, in a hard, cold voice, curiously unlike 
his usual full and hearty tones; for something 
seemed to tell him that the cup of his bitterness 
was not yet full, and he nerved himself as best 


The good lad y surprised 201 

he could to bear whatever trouble might be in 
store for him. 

“Yes, Eugene, I must have a word with you at 
once,” she answered, with an unusual air of grav- 
ity resting upon her kindly countenance. 

"Won’t it keep till noon or night, Mrs. Cran- 
dall? asked Embler, for the whistle was summon- 
ing him to his work. 

“It may be too late then,” returned the lady, 
with so much emphasis that Eugene, whose 
nerves were already unstrung by his recent expe- 
riences, gave in without further parley, and de- 
cided to hear what she had to say. 

“I’ll just report myself, and ask for half an 
hour’s leave, and be back with you,” he said, 
quickly moving away with Oscar Sherman as he 
spoke. 

Five minutes later they both returned, for Em- 
bler had asked Sherman to accompany him, won- 
dering, and truth to tell, dreading, what new 
horror might be waiting for him, and finding some 
support in the presence of his devoted friend. 

Rejoining the worthy woman, the two men ac- 
companied her to the Quiet Home, where, as she 
said, they could talk more at their ease, without the 
risk of prying eyes or listening ears. 

“Well, Mrs. Crandall, what is it you have to 
tell me? Nothing very bad, I hope?” said Em- 
bler as soon as they were within doors. 


202 


CALEB CLICKETT 


“Ah, but it is, Eugene; it^s as bad as can 
be. ” 

“Is it about Mildred?" asked Embler, breath- 
less with emotion, and yet hesitating to speak 
her name. 

“It has nothing to do with Mildred," an- 
swered her aunt, a little testily, Eugene thought. 

“It has to do with and no one else." 

“With me!" echoed Embler, honestly sur- 
prised, and unable to imagine what news of se- 
rious import Mrs. Crandall could have for him 
which did not touch Mildred. 

“Just so. You remember I told'you it wouldn^t 
keep? " 

“Yes, yes." 

“Well, it is just a matter of life and death." 

“Life and death! " echoed Embler, wondering 
more and more what she could mean, as it was 
plain to him that his own great misery — the 
Aaron^s rod of sorrow which had swallowed up 
all minor doubts and troubles — was as yet un- 
known to her. 

“Just so, no more nor less," answered the 
woman firmly, shaking her comely head ominously 
from side to side as she spoke. 

“For God^s sake I tell me what you mean, Mrs. 
Crandall," cried Eugene. “Pve trouble enough 
already, so you needn’t mind telling me your 
news, whatever it may be. A little more one 


THE GOOD LADY SURPRISED 


203 


way or the other makes no difference when a 
man’s heart is dead within him.” 

"Ah, I don’t quite take your mea ng, my poor 
boy,” said the old lady kindly; “but I can see in 
your face that you have suffered terribly since I 
saw you last.” 

“Tell me — tell me what your bad news is,” 
said Embler impatiently. 

“Well, then, so I will. You remember that 
Brian Hawkes?” 

“Of course — the man I pulled out of the Quin- 
nipiac, and whose right name is Jasper Ingham,” 
answered Embler, wondering a little what he had 
to do with it. 

“And you know Shady Buck?” pursued the 
old lady, who was acting out of no unkindness, 
but simply in obedience to her sex’s sense of im- 
portance, in thus dallying over great but ill 
news. 

“Ah! Buck Lawless, a drunken, worthless 
scoundrel,” answered Embler curtly, while Oscar 
Sherman opened his eyes and ears wider than 
ever. 

“Well, it lies between them — two born villains, 
if ever there were any,” said Mrs. Crandall vig- 
orously. 

“What have they done?” asked Eugene, with 
fierce eagerness. 

His thoughts had flown away in a moment from 


204 


CALEB CLICKETT 


himself and his own troubles. It did not occur 
to him that he himself was menaced any more 
than a lion would have scented danger in the 
proximity of two curs at his heels — except for 
the curs. 

But it suddenly flashed upon him that perhaps 
some danger from this quarter threatened Mil- 
dred, and the thought maddened him when he re- 
flected that his right to protect her — a right he 
had valued for a few brief days more than a 
monarch his scepter — had once more been 
snatched from him by the hand that had already 
robbed his life of all worth and happiness. 

“It’s not what they have done; it’s what they’re 
going to do,” answered the woman. “Brian 
Hawkes, or Jasper Ingham, as you say his right 
name is, hates somebody, and means to take his 
revenge on him." 

"Me, I suppose," said Eugene quietly. 

“I can’t say for sure. May be you know best. 
For my part, I can’ t think what grudge he or any- 
one else can have against you, Eugene; but, in- 
deed, if it isn’t you he meant, I can’t fit the 
cap on any head of my acquaintance.” 

“I dare say it was me, Mrs. Crandall. There’s 
no love lost between us. But what is it he is 
going to do?” 

“Well, I’ll tell you; but yon mus^ give me a 
minute to recover myself alter thinking of^them 


THE GOOD LADY SURPRISED 


205 


as they sat together in my best private room — 
Buck Lawless in my best private room, stretch- 
ing his legs as if he was the governor, or the 
mayor at least; just think of it!’’ 

“Lawless and Hawkes?’’ 

“Yes; as pretty a pair of rascals as ever cheat- 
ed the gallows. Well, Eugene, I didn’t like the 
looks of things when I came home and found 
them sitting there, whispering and talking just 
like two brothers, and so I discussed it with my 
conscience, and came to the conclusion that if 
I could overhear a bit and didn’t do so, it would 
be a great deal worse than letting them go their 
own way unchecked. Sol just took advantage of a 
little window that happened to open into the 
room, and though, after all my pains of mind and 
body, I could hear but a little here and there, I 
gathered enough to know that Brian Hawkes 
means serious mischief to one he hates with all 
the power of his black heart, and that Buck Law- 
less is to be the tool to carry it out for him. If 
it isn’t you that’s to be their victim, Eugene 
Embler, I can’t think who it is, and would as 
lief have let the matter alone.’’ 

The young man looked very grave for a mo- 
ment or two, then he said quietly: 

“Mrs. Crandall, I thank you for the pains you 
have been to on my account.’’ 

“Then you think it was you that was meant?” 


200 


C^LEB CLICKETT 


“There's no doubt of that. But it matters lit- 
tle now— best, perhaps, if they did their worst, 
Mrs. Crandall, and made an end of me." 

“Then there’s something else troubling you,” 
said the woman, a motherly sympathy showing 
itself in her tone. 'T thought there was some- 
thing wrong when I first saw you this morning, 
and Oscar, too, with his face as long as myarm. ’’ 

“I’ll tell you the truth, Mrs. Crandall,” said 
Eugene, after a moment’s hesitation. “It must 
come out sooner or later, and I know that I can 
trust both you and Sherman not to speak till 
such time as I myself have spoken.” 

“You can do that,” answered both together. 

“Well, then, Mrs. Crandall, I love your niece, 
Mildred Manning.” 

“Ah, but that’s no news, Eugene. I wasn’t 
born a woman for nothing,” answered the land- 
lady with a kindly smile. 

“I can believe it. I dare say you have seen 
what I thought of her, little as you have seen us 
together. But T couldn’t speak to her of it; I 
dared not.” 

“Well, if that’s all your trouble, Eugene, my 
boy, speak to her now. I’ll warrant you a fair 
hearing,” said Mrs. Crandall, thinking that she 
had all at once grasped the situation, and won- 
dering a little that a man like Embler should 
trouble himself so about such a trifle, but put- 


THE GOOD LADY SURPRISED 


207 


ting it down to the fact that even the wisest of 
men will make fools of themselves when women 
are in question. 

"You don^t understand— you don’t know,” he 
resumed. “I have spoken — ” 

Oh, that’s it, eh? And I suppose the silly 
thing just said ‘No,’ as they all do at first, just 
to make you the sweeter on them; not but what 
I would have thought Mildred would have had 
more sense." 

"No; you wrong her. Mildred— God bless 
her! — answered me freely when] I spoke to her; 
answered me out of her own true heart, and 
made me happier than I had ever been before." 

"Then what’s gone wrong with you? A lovers’* 
quarrel? " 

"My God! No! If it was only some such 
foolish trifle as that! I said that I could not 
speak to Mildred at first although I loved her. 
It was because I had a wife already!" 

" You! you! Eugene Embler? Well, I declare! 
I’m thinking it’s harder to understand you men 
than us women after all. Who would have thought 
that you of all men in the world would have had 
your secret, and such a secret as that!" 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A RAY OF HOPE— A MURDEROUS BLOW — THE TABLES 
TURNED. 

“Don’t blame me, Mrs. Crandall, ’ said Embler, 
with a heavy groan, “It was just because it was 
the curse and shame of my life that I kept it 
secret. It was hard and bitter enough for me,' 
especially after I had seen Mildred, for then it 
seemed to eat away my very heart. 

“I did not know whether this woman, my wife, 
was alive or dead," he continued, after a mo- 
ment’s pause. “I married her years ago, in a 
moment of mad folly, and then she left me, 
after revealing to me how vile, how false, how 
degraded women can be. Then I heard one night, 
about a week ago, that she was dead, and that I 
was free. God! how I thanked Thee for deliver- 
ing my life from the burden!" he suddenly ex- 
claimed in an ecstasy of passionate remembrance. 
Then he resumed: 

“Free! You can guess what that meant forme. 
Free to tell Mildred Manning how I loved her, 
and to learn if, as I dared to hope, she loved me 
in return." 


208 


A MURDEROUS BLOIV 


209 


He paused a moment, almost overcome by his 
recollections. Then with an obvious effort he 
broke again the sympathetic silence and took up 
the thread of his story: 

“I spoke. I had not intended doing so at 
once, as there were points I wished to settle, 
proofs to put beyond all doubt my right to woo 
and win her if I could. But something hap- 
pened with that villain Hawkes, or rather 
Ingham, which forced my hand, and made me ask 
her to give me the right to protect her against 
all the world. She listened to my story — for I 
would not win her with a lie — and when she had 
learned all, I knew that by God’s mercy I had 
Won the love of a true and tender woman, to 
repay me for all the misery brought into my life 
by the incarnate devil in a woman’s form with 
whom years before I had linked myself so fatally. 
The days went by like a happy dream, and last 
night I was going to tell her father of our love 
and ask his blessing. I had been to the center of 
the city to buy a ring — the sign and seal of our 
affection — when out of the crowd came a voice 
and then a face — it was my wife! — back from the 
dead! ” 

"Poor boy! God help you! ’Tis a heavy burden 
you have to bear," said the woman, the tears 
rolling slowly down her cheeks as she softly 
Caleb C licked 14 


210 


CALEB CLICK ETT 


placed her hand on his and pressed it with kindly 
sympathy. 

Eugene Embler remained silent for a few mo- 
ments, overcome with the mere memory of the 
shock which that terrible meeting had inflicted 
upon him. Then he said drearily, as if sheer 
despair had robbed him of all further interest in 
life: 

"What can I do? What is the use of trying 
to do now?" 

"You mustn’t give up, Eugene, for one thing, ’’ 
answered Mrs. Crandall promptly. "All may yet 
be well. It’s her turn now, but may be ’twill be 
yours to-morrow. At any rate, you must not 
throw your life away by just not taking care of 
it." 

What is it worth now? What does anything 
matter now?” burst out Embler, in a passion of 
despairing misery, as the thought of all that 1:^ 
had hoped for, all that he had lost, rushed upon 
his brain like a torrent of seething, searing lava. 
"Oh! that the follies of a man’s youth should 
dog him all through life, blasting every hope, 
killing his very soul within him, making him care 
for nothing here or hereafter! " 

"My dear boy, I wouldn’t talk so of the here- 
after; that’s in other hands than ours — the Lord 
be thanked,” remonstrated the widow quietly. 

"You are right — and I should not seem to 


A MURDEROUS BLOIV 


211 


blame anyone but myself for all that has fallen 
on me. But you cannot wonder that I am in 
despair. Think of the paradise that seemed open 
to me, when all at once this fiend came back 
again from hades itself to bar the way! ” 

“But what will you do, Eugene?” persisted 
the woman, feeling sure that in his state of 
mind a plan which would involve some sort of 
action rather than a despairing submission to 
fate would be his only hope. 

“I cannot tell. It seems to me, when I do try 
to look forward, all is black — black as Erebus! I 
feel as if I had been suddenly thrust back again 
from the light of heaven, back into a gloomy 
dungeon, and I seem to hear the clanging of the 
door at its mouth, shutting me out from light, 
and life, and hope, forever.” 

“You must not despair, Eugene. The law may 
help you. Can’t you obtain a divorce?” 

“I cannot tell — perhaps. I had scarcely thought 
of that, or of anything else but the one damning 
fact of her return,” said Embler, with a gleam 
of returning hope in his honest eye. 

“Ah, you see I can give you some advice yet, 
if you will but take it,” said the widow kindly. 

“You have given me just a grain of hope, and 
even that, to a man sunken as low as I was in 
despair, is like a grain of gold. I am going to 
meet her to-night — her, niy wife — to meet her in 


010 


QALEB CLICKETT 


the darkest part of Wooster Square, where in some 
degree I may yet hide my shame from the sight 
of others.” 

‘‘And why do you meet her?” 

‘‘To try and come to some terms by which at 
least, although all my hopes of present happi- 
ness are destroyed, I may yet be saved from the 
open shame and hourly misery of having to ac- 
knowledge this woman as my wife before the 
world.” 

‘‘And you will protect yourself in the meantime 
against this Buck Lawless and his villainous plot, 
whatever it may be?” 

“Pshaw! Pve no fear of him, or a dozen like 
him — especially now that you have given me a 
spark of hope again. But Pll take such care of 
myself as one man- can against two plotting 
villains.” 

“And about Mildred?” 

Eugene sighed heavily: 

“I shall tell her the truth, after I have seen 
my wife, 'to-night ; and I shall do just what she 
bids me, for I know what she will say.” 

“What?” 

“Do the right at any* cost! But, oh! how hard 
that may be!” cried Eugene, in passionate tones. 

Then, with a grasp of the hand all round, the 
woman went about her household duties, and the 
men to their daily labor; but all three hearts 


A MURDEROUS BLOIV 


213 


were sad and heavy, and the minds of all three 
big with the anticipation of what new things, 
strange and terrible, or fraught with new hopes, 
the next few days, or even hours, might bring 
forth. 

And hour after hour Eugene Embler toiled at 
his work, but with a heavy heart that made his 
labor double. 

What Mrs. Crandall had told him worried him 
a little, and more than once he came across 
Buck Lawless, who, with several others, had 
been hired to help get the engine and machinery 
on board the yacht; and although the ruffian 
slouched by him with averted eyes, Eugene 
seemed to read mischief in the stealthy move- 
ments of the man, and felt a nameless horror of 
him creeping over him. 

It seemed, too, as if he were beset on all sides 
— in peril of body and soul — and for a time even 
his manly spirit appeared to flinch and quail be- 
fore these accumulated troubles. 

"What had he done?" he asked himself, with 
bitter despair; “what had he done to merit all 
this misery? to bring down upon his head this 
avalanche of trouble? to spread about his feet 
this network of traps and snares?" Look which- 
ever way he would, the outlook was gloomy 
enough. Shame, disgrace, treachery, may be 
death ! What a crowd of horrors to hem one man 


214 


CALEB CLICKETT 


in! What a huddling mass of dense black clouds 
to overhang one weak mortal’s life! 

While he was in this gloomy state of mind, he 
was alone for a moment — or thought he was 
alone — in the dark interior of the yacht, waiting 
for the workmen to come with more of the ma- 
chinery. 

Presently he thought he heard a muffled foot- 
step near him. He turned slightly. The move- 
ment saved his life; for at that instant a steel 
bar came down upon his head with a sickening 
thud, and he fell unconscious to the floor. 

The assailant bent over the prostrate form, 
then another advanced from out of the blacker 
darkness on the other side. It was Jasper Ingham, 
disguised as a laborer. 

“Quick now, Buck! quick!" he cried. “Out of 
the stern window with him, and then back and 
help me to finish my little job before the men 
return; " and so in their haste to get rid of the body, 
they did not stop to make sure that their victim 
was dead. 

In another moment Buck Lawless was thrusting 
the unconscious form of Eugene Embler through 
the cabin window, which was just disappearing 
from view when he was seized with an iron grasp 
from behind. 

In his terror he let go of his victim’s leg, and 


A MURDEROUS BLOIV 


215 


a loud splash followed, proclaiming that the 
body had struck the water. 

“On deck there!” called out Buck’s captor. 
“Rescue the man just thrown overboard, or se- 
cure the body! ” 

“All right, sir; ” and two splashes, one quickly 
following the other, were heard. 

“Now, then. Buck, youWe got yourself into a 
pretty scrape, haven’t you? It^s murder this 
time. I’m afraid.4’ 

“I — I — ^twasn’t me that did it, Mr. Clickett;, 
’pon my soul it wasn’t. It was that born devil,, 
Hawkes. And — and he’s raisin’ thunder with the 
engine and machinery now. 

“He is, eh? Your hands! ” — click! — “that’s all 
right. Come along now, and we’ll see about it,, 
my worthy Buck.” 

He conducted his prisoner to the engine-roonx,, 
where they found Jasper Ingham, alias Brian 
Hawkes, alias Peyton Penny, safe in the hands of 
two detectives, one of whom was no less a person 
than Horace Hackett, of Chicago. 

“Has he managed to do much damage, Honace?” 
asked Clickett. 

“Well, considerable,” was the answer; “but 
none, I take it, but what time and money will 
repair. And as I have found a memoraindum in 
his pocket which puts it beyond question as to 
whose employ he was in, and as tl)e parties have 


21C 


CALEB CLICKETT 


plenty of means, they will have to foot the bill, 
and come down pretty stiff in the way of damages, 
too. ” 

"Glad to hear it. Serve ’em right. And now 
let’s get on deck and see if they’ve secured that 
body. Lord, I hope we weren’t too late! If that 
poor fellow’s past praying for, I shall never for- 
give myself.” 

They were soon on deck, and just in time to 
see Eugene taken into a boat by two policemen, 
and Marshall Manning and Oscar Sherman, who 
had jumped overboard and rescued him, helped in 
after him. 

"What shall we do with him?” called out one of 
the officers, as the boat came alongside. 

"Pass him up here, and we’ll have him taken 
to Mrs. Crandall’s Quiet Home,” answered Click- 
ett. Then turning to Hackett, he added: "And 
I guess we’d better adjourn there too. That’s 
where I told the others to come, and it’s about 
as good a place for the climax as we could de- 
sire. ” 

"All right,” nodded Hackett; "I’m agreeable. 
Come along, my worthy penman. No more es- 
capes, if you please.” 

"No, no; not there — not there!” gasped Ing- 
ham, with a look of terror. "That woman is a she- 
devil; she’ll tear me to pieces.” 

"I hardly think so,” was the dry answer; 


A MURDEROUS BLOIV 


217 


"that is, if others can get a chance at you first.’’ 

"What do you mean?" demanded the prisoner 
quickly. 

"Oh, no matter; you’ll know soon enough." 

"See here," cried Ingham, with trembling lips; 
"I demand your protection. The law is responsi- 
ble for my safety." 

"The law, I think, will be able to take care 
of itself, whatever may happen to you; and now 
shut up, if you please, and move on 

The prisoner moved without another word. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE CLIMAX 

It was quite a party that entered Mrs. CrandalPs 
largest front room a few moments later — Marshall 
Manning, Oscar Sherman, the three detectives, 
and the two prisoners being of the number. 

Eugene Embler was carried right through 
the hall to a back bedroom, where a physician, 
who had been quickly summoned by someone, 
found that the wound on his head was not a 
dangerous one, he having turned just at the right 
moment, so that the blow on the skull had been 
a sliding one, and the left shoulder had sustained 
the most injury. 

His wounds dressed, and his wet clothes 
changed for dry ones, he was given a glass of 
stimulants, and told to lie down on the bed and 
get some rest; and then Mrs. Crandall and the 
doctor left him. 

Meanwhile there was considerable going on in 
the great front room. At the threshold Clickett 
had been stopped by an innocent-looking youth, 
who assured him that the parties he had been in^ 
218 


THE CLIMAX 


219 


structed to watch were now inside; that, an hour 
or so before, the woman had made desperate love 
to a somewhat elderly gentleman whom she had 
intercepted on the road, and that now the pair 
were trying to bamboozle a pretty young lady in 
some way. 

As the detective’s party entered, all cast their 
eyes about the room, and in one corner saw a 
group of three: Brent Brommer, Ida Ingham, 
and Ella Scofield. 

“Ida! ” exclaimed Jasper Ingham, in astonish- 
ment and alarm; “you here?” 

“Yes; and why not?” retorted his sister, with 
a look which showed that if it was war, she was 
ready. 

“Yes, Mr. Jasper Ingham,” said Clickett, 
pleasantly; “an agreeable surprise for you to 
meet your beloved sister in this way — and your 
brother-in-law, Mr. Brent Brommer, too! ” 

“What’s that? My brother-in-law, eh? You 
seem to be well up in my family history.” 

“Oh, bless you! yes; I have it all down fine. 
Let’s see;” and opening a door leading into an 
adjoining room, he beckoned two women forward. 
“Ah, yes; here are two ladies of your acquaint- 
ance, who I have no doubt you will be charmed 
to meet again. ” 

“Oh, Jasper, my husband! ” exclaimed the first, 
hurrying forward. 


220 


CALEB CLICKETT 


"Oh, Peyton Penny, you heartless villain!” 
cried the other, rushing upon him. "Pll scratch 
your eyes out! " and she went at him, tooth and 
nail. 

"There! there! calm yourself, Mrs. Rockwell," 
exclaimed Hackett, forcing her off, while Click- 
ett turned his attention to the trio in the corner. 

"Now, then, Mr. Oily Brommer, if you are 
quite through romancing to that young lady, Pll 
thank you to put out your hands, while I adorn 
your wrists with these elegantly finished brace- 
lets.” 

"Sir! what do you mean by insulting a gen- 
tleman in this manner?” 

"Gentleman, eh? About as much a gentleman 
as your wife here is a lady.” 

"What! his wife?” exclaimed Ella Scofield. 
"Both he and she have been trying to make me 
believe that Mr. Manning was in love with her, 
and was going to marry her.” 

"The shameless wretches! ” cried Marshall 
Manning indignantly. "I never spoke to the 
woman in my life till an hour or so ago, when she 
made the most barefaced proposal to me, and 
then I rebuked her as she deserved.” 

"They are a bad lot, I assure you,” said Click- 
ett. "The man is a burglar. See, that finger 
wants a nail. He lost it while breaking into the 
silk works in the city. I have it in my pocket. 


THE CLIM/tX 


221 


I tracked him by it, and it will send him up for 
a good ten years. His wife here is even worse 
than he. Two or three years after she married 
him she married one whom you all know and re- 
spect — Eugene Embler — and has made his life 
miserable ever since.” 

"What’s that? What’s that you say, Mr. Click- 
ett? Isn’t she my wife at all? Have I never 
been married?” exclaimed Eugene, bursting in 
among them. 

"Never to this woman, that’s certain,” an- 
swered the detective; "for I have a certificate of 
her marriage with Brenton Brommer here in my 
pocket, and the ceremony was performed nearly 
eleven years ago.” 

"Oh, thank God! thank God!” 

"Thank God! thank God!” was breathed out 
like an echo by his side, and he turned quickly to 
clasp Mildred Manning in his arms. 

"How affecting! ” exclaimed Ida, with a coarse 
laugh. 

"Yes,” said another voice; "but I think, Ida, 
on the whole it would have been better if you 
had remained dead after we’d killed you so hand- 
somely. Things don’t look very bright for you 
just now, that’s certain.” 

“Dora! what are you doing here?” 

"Hackett, the Chicago detective, found me, and 


222 


CALEB CLICKETT 


being charmed with my society, insisted on my 
accompanying him to this beautiful city. ” 

"Well, Ida,” said Brommer suddenly, "the 
game’s up, sure enough, and the prospect is pretty 
black for you and me and your precious brother 
over there.” 

"You and my precious brother can let them 
drag you off to prison if you like; but as for me, 
they shall never turn a key on me — never! nev- 
er! ” retorted Ida emphatically. 

"What’s that, Mrs. Brommer?” demanded 
Clickett sharply. "You are arrested on four 
charges — bigamy, receiving stolen goods, extort- 
ing money under false pretenses, and conspiracy. 
Hold out your hands! ” 

Ida had been fumbling in her dress, and now 
her right hand was closed. She suddenly clapped 
it to her mouth, and then held forth her hands 
with a derisive laugh. 

"What have you been doing?” demanded the 
detective sternly, as he fastened the handcuffs 
about her wrists and then closed his right hand 
about her throat. "Spit It out, whatever it is, 
or — ” 

"Too late — ha, ha! too late ! I’ve swallowed it, 
and — and — ” 

She slipped from his grasp and fell heavily to 
the floor — dead! 


THE CLIMAX 


233 


Six months later there was a triple wedding 
at the little cottage near the Cove. The con- 
tracting parties were Marshall Manning and 
Ella Scofield, Eugene Embler and Mildred Man- 
ning, and Oscar Sherman and Elsie Manning. 

The wedding was quite a grand affair, and the 
little house was filled to overflowing with invited 
guests, among whom were Caleb Clickett and 
Horace Hackett, the latter, by good fortune, hap- 
pening to be in the city at the time. 

These two shrewd and courageous men, having 
got into a corner by themselves, began to com- 
pare notes. 

“A pleasant ending to a rather romantic affair,” 
said Hackett, glancing toward the happy couples 
at the other end of the room. 

"Yes,” assented his friend; "nothing could be 
better. Manning’s invention turned out to be a 
perfect marvel. He has already received several 
hundred thousand on it, and will receive as much 
more. He has bought three-fifths of the stock 
of the Quinnipiac Engine and Boiler Works, 
given a fifth to each of his sons-in-law, who are 
now officers and directors, and he himself holds 
the most responsible position. Then, too, his 
wife came into a big fortune by Herbert Norton’s 
will; so they are all very rich.” 

"That’s as it should be. And Mrs. Crandall, I 
see she is well?” 


224 


CALEB CLICKETT 


“Yes, and as independent as ever. She says 
she will never leave the Quiet Home, but that 
it shall.be what it has always been since she first 
opened it, and that to the last hour of her life.” 

“Good again, for it's the best place in New 
England to stop at. And now about our shady 
friends?” 

“Well, Jasper Ingham got ten years for his 
share in the attempt on Embler's life and for 
destroying property. After he’s served his time, 
you can have him for forgery and bigamy. Ida, 
with whom it would have gone pretty hard, es- 
caped, as you know, by taking her own life. Dora, 
by coming up here voluntarily, and turning 
state’s evidence, escaped scot-free. Buck Law- 
less, for assault with intent to kill, got ten 
years; and Brent Brommer, for the burglary at 
the silk works, for having Herbert Norton’s will 
in his possession, and for conspiracy to extort 
money from Embler, got fifteen years, and I still 
have his finger-nail.” 

“Well, under the circumstances, it’s worth 
holding on to.” 

“I think so; and now tell me, what of Mrs. 
Rachel Rockwell?” 

“You will smile, but she no longer weeps for 
her precious penman, for she has found consola- 
tion in the arms of the Rev. Samuel Pyetie, of 
the Hallelujah Mission.” 


THE CLIMAX 


225 


“I am glad to hear it, for her money will help 
the parson in his work, and he can make her 
happy. How’s Gamsby?” 

"Happy and satisfied. He has been promoted. ’* 

"Good; and you?" 

"I have done well this 5^ear. I have saved 
some money and won some fame." 

"I guess we are about on a par there; for I, 
too, have put away a little money, and I am 
starting a private museum, in which I am get- 
ting together quite a number of curious things, 
among which you will find Brent Brommer^s 
finger-nail. " 

“Ah! " exclaimed Hackett, suddenly; "the 
bridal parties are off. Quick! or we shall not 
have a chance to say good-bye.” 

"No, no; we will not say good-bye — but God 
bless and prosper them always! " 


THE END 


THE UBEAET OF 

EEAnSTIC FICTIOH 


HUMAN BRUTES (La Bete Humaine)... By Emile Zola 

ABBE MOURET’S TRANSGRESSION By Emile Zola 

THE JOYS OF LIFE By Emile Zola 

A LOVE EPISODE By Emile Zola 

NANA By Emile Zola 

LA TERRE... By Emile Zola 

L’ASSOMMOIR By Emile Zola 

NANA’S DAUGHTER; A Reply to Nana By Emile Zola 

A DREAM OF LOVE.., By Emile Zola 

POT BOUILLE (Piping Hot) By Emile Zola 

THE LADIES’ PARADISE By Emile Zola ' 

NANA’S BROTHER GERMINAL By Emile Zola 

SAPPHO By Alphonse Daudet 

AGNES. A Story of the Streets By Louis Paul Kirby 

OLIVIA By Geo. W. M. Reynolds 

ADA ARUNDEL By Geo. W. M. Reynolds 

MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF QUEEN ELIZABETH 

By Geo. W. M. Reynolds 

AN ACTOR’S WIFE By George Moore 

A MODERN LOVER By George Moore 

THE BLUE VEIL By F. Du Boisgobey 

THE VIRGIN WIDOW By A. Matthey 

A FROLICSOME GIRL By John C. Wallis 

LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 

803.205 Jackson Street, CHICAGO, Ilili. 











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